The floorboards of the house, which seemed as old as the sea-beaten rocks that it stood upon, creaked ominously as Alexander Taylor and his newlywed wife, Sarah, walked through the huge double doors. They were met by a huge, gaping foyer, reaching up all four stories of the house and crawling one hundred feet back into the shadows. The ceiling of the foyer was a huge slab of light green stained glass, which, if the sun had not been obscured behind furious grey clouds, would have shone a beautiful soft green light on the chess-like marble tiled floor.
"Home." Alexander said affectionately, breathing a deep sigh and looking about the room, soaking up its beauty.
And it was beautiful. It was covered in old oil paintings, the walls were of hardwood, the varnish faded and peeling. The walls were broken up every twenty feet or so by a white pillar, spearing up to the ceiling of the round room, where they all joined, now slender like spider webs, at the very center of the ceiling. From their gathering, a huge chandelier hung, its beauty beyond any description bound to ink and paper.
"Oh Alexander, it is beautiful!" Sarah breathed, clasping her hands together and looking around.
"I'm so glad my great-uncle gave it to us as a wedding present. It was my favorite place to be as a child. So many memories lie in these walls. Like the fleeting ghosts of my forefathers…" Alexander said, the last sentence dropping into a quiet monotone. He ran his finger down the wall, as if he was caressing the house and a strange look came about his face. Chills immediately ran down Sarah's spine, and a gust of cold November wind cut through the foyer.
"Do you know how this house came to be?" Alexander asked, turning slowly on the spot to face Sarah. "It was built by my great, great grandfather in sixteen hundred and one." He said in a strangely soft voice that sounded nothing like him as he slowly walked-no, paced around the walls of the foyer. "He was a fisherman, you can see the old dock down the yard a ways. He went out every day, until the fog came. It's utterly blinding out at sea, too dangerous for him to go out. But, in the year of sixteen hundred and seventy, he was ninety, a remarkably old age for the time, and he knew he was about to die, so he went out one last time on the ocean." Alexander stopped a moment, then turned back to face Sarah, who was feeling very wary by this point.
"He was, of course, never heard from again. The boat disappeared. He said he was only going down to the inlet, about a mile from the house, but no one ever found him, even in that day of clear skies, right after he died.
That night, however, the fog came back, now accompanied by grey clouds, that have hung over the manor ever since. And that is the story of the house, it has set empty ever since then, save for my great uncle taking me here as a child. I always felt at home here… and I always felt as if I wasn't alone. I knew then that this house had to be my home, and today, November thirteenth, eighteen hundred and sixty three, that destiny has finally seen the day it comes true!" Alexander finished, shouting the last few words. All Sarah could do was stare in disbelief at Alexander. The man talking in the last two minutes seemed very different from Alexander.
Alexander smiled and rushed towards her, causing her to jump and gasp after the last few eerie minutes. Alexander slammed into her, taking her into a warm embrace.
"I'm so happy." He said, "So wildly happy." The he ran out the door to gather their things from the carriage and carry them through the tall, wrought iron gate, with letters in chipping gold paint over the gateway; 'The House on Falkner Hill.'