The Fall of the House of Alden
It was a dreary evening in late autumn when I received a letter from my old friend, Jonathan Alden, urging me to visit his ancestral home, the Manor of Alden. Jonathan and I had been close companions in our youth, but the years had seen us drift apart. His urgent plea, filled with despair and an unspoken terror, compelled me to make the journey to the remote and desolate countryside where the manor stood.
As my carriage approached the manor, an oppressive gloom settled over me. The manor loomed ahead, a vast and decaying structure that seemed to merge with the dark, brooding landscape. The walls were cracked and weathered, ivy clung to the stone like skeletal hands, and the windows stared out like empty, soulless eyes.
Jonathan greeted me at the door. His appearance shocked me; he was gaunt, pale, and his eyes were filled with a haunting dread. He welcomed me with a weak smile, but it was clear that something had profoundly disturbed him.
As we sat in the grand, yet decaying, drawing room, Jonathan spoke of the strange and terrifying events that had plagued the manor. His sister, Evelyn, had fallen into a mysterious illness that no doctor could diagnose. She was confined to her bed, her condition worsening with each passing day. Jonathan feared that the manor itself was the source of her malady.
He led me to Evelyn's room. She lay there, frail and ghostly, her breathing shallow and labored. Her eyes opened briefly as we entered, and she tried to speak, but only a faint whisper emerged. I could sense an oppressive atmosphere in the room, as if the very air was tainted by an unseen malevolence.
Over the next few days, I observed the manor and its inhabitants. Strange noises echoed through the halls at night – whispers, footsteps, and the occasional mournful wail. The house seemed alive with an ancient and malevolent presence. Jonathan confided in me about the history of the Alden family, a lineage marked by tragedy, madness, and mysterious deaths.
One evening, as a storm raged outside, Jonathan and I sat by the fire in the library. He shared with me a family legend, a curse that was said to haunt the Alden bloodline. According to the legend, an ancestor had committed a terrible crime, and the family was doomed to suffer until the sins were atoned for.
As Jonathan spoke, we heard a loud crash from Evelyn's room. We rushed upstairs and found her bed empty, the window flung open, and the cold wind howling through the room. We searched the manor frantically, but she was nowhere to be found.
In the depths of despair, Jonathan led me to a hidden passageway in the basement, which he had discovered while exploring the house's secrets. The passage descended into darkness, and we followed it, guided by the faint flicker of our lantern.
The passage opened into a crypt, where we found Evelyn lying on a stone slab, her eyes closed, her breathing barely perceptible. Jonathan collapsed beside her, overwhelmed by grief. As I approached, I felt a cold, malevolent presence enveloping us.
Suddenly, Evelyn's eyes snapped open, and she sat up, gasping for breath. Jonathan embraced her, tears streaming down his face. But the joy was short-lived. The crypt began to tremble, the walls cracking and the ceiling crumbling. The curse of the Alden family was coming to its final, catastrophic fruition.
We fled the crypt, carrying Evelyn between us. The manor shook violently, and as we emerged into the open air, the ground beneath the house split open. With a deafening roar, the Manor of Alden collapsed into the earth, swallowed by the darkness below.
We watched in horror and relief as the cursed house was finally destroyed. Evelyn, though weak, seemed to improve in the days that followed. Jonathan, however, was never the same. The ordeal had taken a severe toll on his mind and spirit.
As I took my leave of the Alden family, I couldn't help but feel that the destruction of the manor had lifted a dark shadow from their lives. The ancient curse had claimed its last victims, and the Aldens were free to rebuild their lives, free from the malevolent grip of their ancestral home.
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Son cœur est un luth suspendu;
Sitôt qu'on le touche il résonne.
—De Béranger
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Original Story :
You can read the original story "The Fall of the House of Usher" by Edgar Allan Poe here:
[The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe]
