The Affliction of Cooper Barton

by Hannah Waugh

The old house on the corner creaked and groaned, its weight bending to the merciless wind. The shifting of the rotting planks and boards eerily resembled the moaning of a human voice. The house appeared as if it had been pleasant-looking in its prime; an open porch snaked around the outside of the house, and a winding garden pathway led to the front door. The wide double doors had been delicately engraved, a brass knocker centered on each. Time, however, had degraded the house. The paint was peeling back to reveal the rotting wood underneath, and the brass had tarnished to a deep, green hue. The garden had been neglected for years and now only contained overgrown weeds and the skeletal remains of dead shrubs. Its name was Blight Manor. Despite its appearance, Blight Manor was occupied. A man lived within it; he had inherited it from an anonymous, deceased relative, people said. Or perhaps he had bought it to carry out his shady business, the bolder ones said. People spoke about this man behind his back, but not one of them had ever said one word to the man; the townsfolk went to great lengths to avoid him. Parents told their children that he was the worst kind of man. This man, you see, was a writer. His name was Cooper Barton. He was known to lock himself in his house for weeks at a time, never emerging until his deadline was met. He spoke to no one, acknowledged no one, and they did the same to him. Tonight he had shut himself up in the house, as it was the night before his deadline. Within the house, the man sat at a worn, wooden desk

in the library. He was a small man, and the ornate chair seemed to swallow him whole. Bookcases towered around him, their shelves filled with tomes that used to inspire Cooper; now, they only taunted him. A laptop was perched upon the desk, its bright screen illuminating the small room. A document was visible on the screen. Cooper leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. He stared at the words on the screen, watching the blinking of the cursor. Cooper allowed his heavy eyes to slide closed. He listened to the shifting of the house, wishing he could decipher the meaning of the groans. Imagine all this house has seen, he thought. If only it could give him inspiration… The floorboards behind his chair shifted, and the sound startled Cooper awake. He sat up in his chair, frantically looking left and right. The shadows seemed to be swirling and pulsing around him, but the house was silent again. The man scolded himself for being so easily frightened, settling back into his chair. He fell back into the ritual of staring at the blinking cursor, his eyes closing once again.

A door upstairs slammed, the noise reverberating throughout the whole house. It echoed, reaching Cooper’s ears time and time again. He stood, positive that he was no longer alone within the house.

Stepping delicately across the wooden floor of the foyer, he came to stand at the foot of the winding staircase. He strained his ears, listening for any noise that may have revealed what was waiting for him. Seconds passed, then minutes, but to Cooper, it felt like hours. After confirming the silence time and time again, he ascended the staircase.

Each step creaked underneath his weight.

Cooper stood at the mouth of a long hallway, lined on each side by wooden doors. Peering at each of these doors, he discovered that all but one stood ajar. He took a delicate step toward this door, careful to place his feet only where the wood would not creak and groan. Standing just outside the door for a minute, he listened for any noises coming from within. He heard nothing.

Hesitantly grabbing the doorknob, he swung the heavy, wooden door open, revealing the grotesque scene within.

Within the veil of darkness of the bedroom, Cooper could make out the outline of something sinister. It was sitting in the

center of the room, hunched over what appeared to be a dead bird. It was tearing at the animal with claws and teeth, and feathers littered the small room. It had heard him enter and turned to him with its black, soulless eyes. It screeched and cawed, lunging after the terrified Cooper. Unable to contain his dismay, the man let loose a bloodcurdling scream, seeming to shake the house’s very foundations. Cooper deftly stepped back as it lunged for him. He spun on his heel and ran for the stairs.

He did not dare to look behind him. He heard it following close behind him, the scratching of claws against wood. One moment of hesitation and he would be the creature’s next meal. Upon reaching the stairs, he bounded down the first two steps. The next steps, however, he did not reach. He lost his footing, his feet caught beneath him, and the man began to tumble. Head over heels, Cooper fell down the winding staircase. The creature watched from afar while his prey landed at the foot of the stairs. It stood before returning the shadows from whence it came. The police arrived at Blight Manor only minutes later. They had been called when someone complained about the screaming. Upon kicking in the rotting door and traversing the entryway, they found Cooper Barton in a crumpled pile at the bottom of his stairs. His neck had snapped on the way down, and his eyes were still open in pure terror. He seemed to be looking to his desk, where his laptop, and unfinished work, sat waiting. No one could say for sure what had happened to Cooper Barton that night. Some say he killed himself. But others, the bolder, say he had been killed by...writer’s block.