Wuthering Heights As A Gothic Novels & Stories

I told myself small towns were like that with strangers and turned the radio up louder. The house emerged from the tree line slowly, like it had been waiting to be seen on its own terms. Victorian Gothic, tall and narrow, with a roofline that seemed to reach for something unseen. Ivy strangled the facade in thick possessive ropes. The gardens were overgrown, stone paths vanishing into tangled hedges, a fountain cracked down the middle and long dry. It felt less like a home and more like something holding its breath. I shook that thought away, got out of the car, and walked up the steps.

As we neared our destination, the house came into view, and an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. The estate loomed ahead, half-shrouded in mist curling off the dark lake nearby. Its structure was nothing less than imposing. It reminded me of a gothic castle illustrated in old steamy romances I had hidden under my bedcovers to read as a teenager. Its weathered stone walls and arched windows reflected nothing but the grey sky overhead. The surrounding trees were twisted and bare, their skeletal branches reaching toward the manor as though trying to reclaim it. Everything about this place felt wrong.

I only buried my face into his chest, inhaling his scent and hoping it would bring me comfort. "Now, you are scared." He snorted and my head shot up. "I am not scared!" I huffed. He snickered. "You are an asshole," I told him, my eyes wandering around. They widened, nearly spilling out of their sockets when an intimidatingly tall Victorian castle came into view, flat-out looking like an image from a Gothic story with the thin branches that were wrapped around it as though they stemmed from its old Grey walls. The air around here felt colder and ominous. The unsettling atmosphere that hung around here had me furrowing my brows, but despite how it seemed to have an unnerving darkness oozing of