THE FORBIDDEN WEST WING

THE FORBIDDEN WEST WING

1ST SERIES

SUSPENSEFUL & SUPERNATURAL



MYSTERY GENRE





AUTHOR - WRITER

JACQUELINE “JACQUI” MICHELLE BROWN RAMIREZ-MARTINEZ







One remarkable wealthy family resides the Livingston-Braun in their seven-eight room estate, and the ghostly spirits that revisited, and taunted, and torments Bassett during darkness, in the West Wing. Everything is as real as he makes it and no more so. What you read, hears, feel, is a mode of his consciousness, and can have no other reality than the sense he entertain it. He’s or who the one who was tormented by the curse of the family. Surely, Henry knows he had to find a way to escape.  Even though, it could be an unstable and frightful. “What if know one knew, and neither could they return and “What if the spiteful thing takes them away?”  Thirteen years had passed and this is where all it begins, “The Forbidden West Wing, 1st Series.”



It was heavily rainy and unsettled sodden night. During sundown, everyone has just about settled in except Henry, Bassett devoted servants he returns to the West Wing.  He opens the massive door, with a silver key and closes it at the rear of him. Next, he goes into Bassett sizeable estate room, carrying a tray of food. Good-evening Sir, as he laid the tray on the fine table.

Beyond the door were a sizeable sitting, room, bath and a study all in one, big as three cottages put together. Just before Bassett, Henry walks nearby him. Shall I let light in Sir?  At his beside, lending against the wall stood a hefty murky silvery mirror. Curve-up in his bed; his hair was insurmountable Bassett mutters, as he turns facing the mirror. Afterward, Henry goes over to the table and picks up the tray. Here is your dinner Sir. Without any warning, he snatches the tray and slams it to the floor and the tasteful plate, it slither and broken into nine pieces. I see that you are not very hungry. Henry headed toward the table where, the large table napkin was lying. He picks, it up and reaches down to clean the mess. Callously, he replies get out! Get out! His dreadful voice it echoes, throughout the room. The lights and candles flicker off and on, and all at once, they shut off and the entire room and hallway cast a shadow. At once, Henry goes over to open the shutters for light. Something touches him, he felt this hideous living thing, but he could not see a thing. A voice it make known and it lingers about, the room screaming, in these words. Leave now. “Get, out!”  In a hurry he opens the room door.

Down the hallway, the chandelier it jangles, in the air.  The marble sculpture of a woman, “Stefano Maderno (1576-1635) St. Cecilia, she lying on the ground, her hands bound, and her head partly severed from her body, began to reposition in the hallway. It was the hours of darkness and it aroused, and something had left its grave at dust in the gloom of the mist, and revisits Bassett room lifeless in the sundown. A large shadow was amongst the hallways, it appeared as a ghostly spirit, and became visible in this hollow utterance reflection howling of it suffering. Quickly, Henry opens the lock with the keys, and he leaves out of the West Wing, and the massive doors slams at the rear of him.

Breathless, he stood behind the lock door, not uttering a sound, and all he could hear was his heart pounding, and the rumbling of the lighting, it burst right through, the overcast windows. Many years ago it was spoken, Bassett mother began awfully ill, and she was married to a blood countless his father, near Wales in a small city call Pembroke shire, off the coastline. It was told that his father would reap souls, and take their blood home to his loving wife. After his father death, his mother she was put away, and then she vanished. One and all kept silent about it, and they truly kept all their secrets, and the family went on with their normal lives. His mother’s presence is felt from time to time in the passageway.

You could just about hear her weeping, another one after the other. The plague and the lurking sickness stay amongst the West Wing. At midnight, footprints where in bedded in the moist mud, during the night dweller of the dark world.