As explained in my previous post, I participate in Twitter hashtag games, and bulk those tweets up for Instagram…and sometimes they’re too big. So, instead of deleting them, I decided to post them here.

Original Tweet (the prompt was the word #whisper):

Nightly creaks and groans? Lady Chatham accepted that as part of the charm of living in the old Victorian mansion. But when the portraits began to whisper secrets of their long-lost owners and the walls began to bleed, she knew she had made a grave mistake.

The too large for Instagram remix:

Lady Chatham was always fascinated by old Victorian mansions, and when she stumbled upon one for sale, she couldn’t resist the temptation to buy it. She loved everything about it, from the intricate woodwork to the high ceilings and the spacious rooms. But she soon discovered that there was more to the mansion than meets the eye.

At first, it was just the nightly creaks and groans that she accepted as part of the charm of living in an old house. But then, the portraits on the walls began to whisper secrets of their long-lost owners, and Lady Chatham started to feel uneasy. She tried to ignore it and go on with her life, but the strange occurrences only grew more frequent and more bizarre.

One day, Lady Chatham woke up to find the walls of her bedroom covered in blood. She thought it was a prank or some sort of sick joke, but as she tried to clean it up, the blood wouldn’t come off. It was as if it had seeped into the very fibers of the wallpaper. That’s when she knew she had made a grave mistake.

As the days passed, Lady Chatham tried to find some explanation for what was happening, but she couldn’t. The mansion had a life of its own, and it seemed to be getting more and more malevolent with each passing day. She began to see shadows moving in the corners of her eyes and hear whispers in the dead of night. She tried to leave the house, but it was as if the doors were locked from the inside.

One evening, as Lady Chatham was sitting in the parlor, she heard a voice. It was a man’s voice, and it was coming from the portrait of a stern-looking gentleman hanging on the wall. The voice spoke to her, telling her the secrets of his life, and the lives of those who had come before him. Lady Chatham was transfixed, unable to move or speak. When the voice finally stopped, she knew that she was not alone in the house.

From that night on, Lady Chatham was a prisoner in her own home. The mansion had come alive, and it was determined to keep her there forever. The walls continued to bleed, the portraits continued to whisper, and the creaks and groans grew louder and more ominous. Lady Chatham knew that she would never leave the house alive.

Years later, when a new family moved into the mansion, they found Lady Chatham’s body in the parlor. She was sitting in front of the portrait of the stern-looking gentleman, with a look of terror frozen on her face. The walls were still bleeding, and the portraits were still whispering. The new family tried to leave the house, but the doors were locked from the inside. They knew they were trapped, just like Lady Chatham had been, and that they would never escape the malevolent presence that haunted the old Victorian mansion.