Gothic Story Essay

One autumn afternoon she went out back to empty the Mistress’s chamber pot into the privy, unaware that a visitor she thought gone had not yet departed. She opened the privy door and stepped inside. Just as she lifted the porcelain lid and prepared to pour the pot’s contents into the hole, the door opened and someone stepped inside the small

When she drew back the curtain, she could make out a homemade, pole-framed-bed in the middle of the room. The light coming through the small window gave the room a murky appearance. Upon the bed, under several layers of quilts, were the skeletal remains of the cabin’s former owner. Before she even got near the bed, she knew it was a

Jane’s perception of the furniture’s authoritative presence and her reaction to the looking-glass expresses her over active imagination, which stems from her psychologic need to distance herself from her cruel life when she finds herself isolated. Ostracized by the Reed family, similarly to the “seldom entered” Red Room, Jane finds comfort in novels and stories her nurse, Bessie, tells to her. Locked away in the Red Room as an unfair punishment, Jane’s overactive imagination transforms things like the bed and chair around her into a “tabernacle” and “pale throne” (10) so she can better cope with the strange surroundings. Reflexively, Jane uses her imagination as a shield against her Aunt’s unjust cruelty and bias towards her; instead focusing

Large, black letters spelling out “City Hall” in all caps were set into the stone of the arch and clamored to be seen through the layers of gossamer cobwebs and archaic layers of dust. Below the arch, steps lead the way onto the platform, two hand rails for help pressed up against both sides of an array of expensive white tiled walls, smudged with suspicious rust colored stains and various graffiti. The entrance way opened up into what seemed like endless tunnels and rails, the smell of wet earth, electricity, and burnt meat permeating throughout them. Openings above the tracks brought light into the underground, blue light fanning across the floor as it ran through what looked like a giant stained glass church window and highlighted thousands of footprints in the thin layers of dust. With a curl of his chapped lips, Bram smiled bitterly. Home sweet home.

Sister Françoise withdrew her legs from under her stiff cotton sheets, swung them over her bed, and pressed the balls of her feet into the rigid and frigid concrete floor. Pushing herself off of the bed and into a stretch, she squinted as a brilliant beam of morning light flooded through the room’s sole window and pierced her eyes. Noticing her roommate, Sister Agatha, was still enveloped in a deep slumber, Sister Françoise dressed with haste and hurried off to begin her morning duties.

The mansion would have been beautiful with its curved turrets and decorative trim, Its wide open windows, and open porch. But now the windows looked like gaping holes, with jagged glass for teeth. The turrets like cold malicious eyes. Slowly I walked up and opened the door.

The lock made a loud click when it was turned, and swung open to invite the guests into its seemingly beautiful house. The room was dimly lit and awfully quiet. It gave off an eerie essence, as no one else was walking about the house except a pair of footsteps that was making it's way from the stairs on the third floor. Mason looked around unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were lined with velvet tapestry, and the floors were covered in a blood red carpet. The stairs were made of fine oak,

Dark shadows lurked in the crisp, still air, along with a faint smell of death in the chilling silence of the night. He gingerly approached the door, walking up a flight of stairs as he did so. The stairs were made of stone, stone that was cracked with age and overgrown with weeds of neglect. With his hand on the door, he pushed. Only fast enough to move it an inch at a time. The door, the heavy door, was only made of the finest oak, scarred with age and decades of abuse. Finally, it was open. He glanced over towards the window, where a ghostly figure stood. It turned slowly to reveal its ghastly

Advancing, she wrung my collar in her grip, a wicked smile across her face. Evil. Mean. Nasty. I blinked back tears, pleading in whimpers to be freed. She dragged me to the church. Underground, to the bunkers. To the chambers. Through empty corridors, by blank faces, I couldn’t stop the tears. River down my cheek, snot dribbled from each nostril. I didn’t want to go with her. To follow her. I gripped her wrist.

But, I need not, for as I was about to hasten up the stairs, my beautiful Jane stepped out of her room and descended the stairs. “Linger,” said I, “My brain is on fire with impatience, and you tarry so long!” Taking her into the dining room I surveyed her and pronounced her fair as a lily, and not only the pride of my life, but the desire of my eyes. Informing Jane thet I would give her just ten minutes to eat, I rang the bell and a footman appered.

As a child, Jane lived with her malicious Aunt Reed at Gateshead Hall due to the death of her parents. Her Aunt Reed and cousins John, Georgiana, and Eliza disliked her and treated her cruelly. In one incident, Jane was sent to the red-room as punishment, which was the bedroom of his Uncle Reed, and also the bedroom in which he died. Jane claimed to have seen the

“Go back to your investigations then.” There was a slight creaking down the hall behind me, the sound of wood warping beneath a heavy step, that caused my body to stiffen automatically, and I glanced back down it again, leaning to try and peer around the corner of the alcove. The servant’s stair sat behind a small wall, off the better lit main hallway, but it wasn’t quite hidden enough for me to stand where I was without being seen.

The smell of the corpse and strong wine filled Edmund’s nostrils with every breath he took. It nauseated him. He had sat through the vicious scolding of Galaezzo in the late hours, yet he could not live without getting the feel of that fat off his fingers. He hunted quietly for some harsh rosemary soap to use in the inky blackness the monastery chambers.

The smoky smell of the fire, the scent of meat that was being cooked, all the noise, the prying strangers, and the barking dogs, was overwhelming. When Mrs. Cleary tried to force Ina to eat some food all she could do was become nauseous. But Mrs. Cleary continued to fuss away at Ina still trying to force her to eat. She kept pushing a spoon at Ina saying "You must eat something dear....you must eat something....just try!" Christopher kept crying and was unhappy at all strangeness and noise of the people and dogs around him too.

    Phoebe crept into the hallway gently stepping on squeaky wooden floor broads. She flinched squeezing her eyes shut she a squeak was released. When no one got out of bed. She went down the stairs to the kitchen. She hesitated before going off to