"Without any overall or grand design, without any intention of a unified effect, the Winchester mansion sprawls and flops in a dozen different directions, moving like a coral reef. Its aesthetic, its beauty, is precisely in its lawlessness. The house is, in a way, a form of automatic writing, a stream of consciousness made spatial." — Ghostland, Colin Dickey
"This one goes nowhere too, Natsume!" Nyanko-sensei crows, then bodily knocks the door closed. Natsume winces at the sound.
"Careful, Sensei," he admonishes.
"Think it's an American thing? Stairs that go nowhere?" Natsume only shrugs, stooping to secure the lucky cat in his arms.
.
Falling daylight slants through the windows, spiking geometric shadows across the floor.
The house is so, so quiet. It's weird. Winding passages circle back on themselves. There are dead ends around just about every corner. There's a door that simply leads to a sheer drop. Natsume found that out the hard way—Madara's billowing tail the only thing keeping him from falling.
The history of pain and tragedy is palpable in the dusty atmosphere. And yet—
"This room is supposed to be one of the most active ones," Natsume consults the pamphlet. Sensei hrmphs, squirming to get down. "It's where the mistress of the house passed away." He carefully eyes the room.
Nyanko-sensei is marching around the perimeter of the room, sniffing diligently.
But there's nothing. No one. The garish word art and hyperbolic testimonials that are plastered all over the pamphlet fall even flatter.
Natsume isn't really sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The silence, this unnatural quiet. He feels unnerved in a way he hasn't in a long time.
Suddenly he registers stubby paws kneading, insistent, on his shin and he blinks down at the cat.
"This place is a bore," his self-proclaimed bodyguard declares. "Let's go to that bakery we passed earlier—macarons!" Nyanko-sensei's eyes gleam.
Natsume rolls his eyes, coming back to himself.
"Just a few," he tries.
"One of each flavor!" Sensei insists, enthusiastically leaping up to settle around Natsume's shoulders. It's a comforting weight.
Dusk has fallen by the time they leave. Natsume looks back at the sprawling mansion.
"Weird place."
Sensei's nose twitches, but he doesn't say a word.