Survival is a gift many people don’t realize that they have had since birth. Then again, survival is hard to see. Most people only know that they have it until they are close to losing it.

Or already have.

My name is Eve Mansbrough. I am twelve years old and I have a story to tell. A story that, if heeded, could save many lives. I did not take heed, and I pray that ye shan’t follow my path.

Twas 1789, in the reign of George III, wintertime. My father was in arrears as for his nasty gambling trait, and my Mum and I had nearly nothing. We were dangling by the last thread of our money when a letter came from our friend, the good Lord MacTheton. It told of how he was horribly lonesome, and how he owned an estate quite too large for an old man such as he. He wrote that he would be very glad for us to stay with him as long as we wanted.

It was just what we needed. We packed all that we hadn’t sold and left my good-for-nothing father in jail. We left soon after that, towards Cardurnock, near Goldton Hall, where the Lord lived. It wasn’t far from our minute village of Longnewton, and the cab was fast. As soon as we reached the small town, we were amazed at the loveliness of it all. Longnewton was where all our misfortune had begun, and I was expecting Cardurnock to be it’s end.

Expectations can be misleading.

We drove a bit out of town, into grey, rocky cliffs and green grass. Eventually the unkempt land morphed into a well-kept estate, with a stone trail leading towards the most wonderful house I had ever seen. It was three stories up and with ivy growing up its sunshine-yellow walls. A pearly-white gate canopied the cobblestone trail, its doors open wide. When we arrived at the inviting estate, we took our measly baggage onto the momentous stairs leading towards two immense oaken double doors. The doors had strange and wonderful relief carvings articulately crafted with incredible skill. I looked closer, and saw that it was telling a story. The image of the Lord MacTheton was split between the separation of the two doors, with his hands raised upwards towards a globe that was similarly separated. As I looked with greater intensity, I saw that it had the shape of England etched into it, along with many other lands that my uneducated mind didn’t recognize. Further up, there was a depiction of a stately manor, which was a completely flawless representation of the very house where I stood. A rising sun peeked out from the beautiful picture, bringing tidings of light and safety. Then my vision traveled to the second door. There depicted an eerie mansion scratched into the dark, hard wood, broken windows and rotten boards numerous upon it’s looming walls. Under the freakish picture was something even more ominous. There shone the image of thousands of faces distorted with suffering and innumerable horrors. I instantly looked away trying to forget the wretched faces. When I looked back, the doors were open wide, with Lord MacTheton himself between them. He was a very large man, both tall and burly, with such a wide smile that it seemed the world was swallowed by his joy. He boasted an impressive pair of fiery sideburns, connected with a thick orange mustache which could just barely envelope his welcoming grin. His pure white suit had innumerable thin gold chains connected to it, disappearing into his bulging waistcoat.

“Welcome!” He boomed, “I knew ya’d make it! Punctual as always, Miss Eve!” He beamed at me, as if he knew my inmost being and loved me dearly for it.

“Exuse me, sir, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting ye before. Perhaps ye’re referring to me mum, Mrs. Eve Mansborough.”

“Hogwash! I’ve known you since you were a wee bairn in your mum’s tum-tum! Don’t act as if ya don’t know me! I’m practically everywhere!” He led me by the hand into his huge hall, with cushy rugs and colossal staircases. He then welcomed Mum in in his boisterous way, booming and roaring, like an excited lion. I twirled about, laughing in amazement of my unbelievable surroundings. “I will be happy here forever,” I thought, and it would be near enough true, had it not been for my insatiable curiosity.

I had stayed at Goldton Hall for days after, learning to read, riding ponies and fishing in the pond. It was MacTheton himself who guided me in each, and always he guided me down the right path when walking in the woods by the estate. Sometimes I thought that one path was much better than the other, with less troubles and puddles, but in the end, the Lord’s path always had something wondrous at the end of it. I grew to love the Lord dearly.

On one of these strolls, we were walking in a dark and wet part of the woods, when I saw a path leading another way, sunlit and dry, with fuzzy purple thistles on the side.

“Lord MacTheton?” I asked, “Why can’t we go dun that path? It looks right lovely, what with the flowers and such. I’ll bet there’s a right’n’ wonderful beauty’ at the end’ve it!” The Lord looked at me, and bent right down and took my hands. “You listen here, Eve Mansborough. Some paths never should be walked on. Some houses should never be entered. And some people should never be trusted.” I was startled by his firmness with me, and by the sudden power shown in his once-comical face. I was quite upset with him, to be honest with ye. So once we had finished the walk (at the end of which there was a perfect little flock of sheep.) and went home, I stupidly, stupidly, insensibly sneaked out of Goldton Manor.

That was the last time I saw it.