Echoes bounce emptily. Clawed hands reach up, towers of dead ashwood. The mansion looms over me, only weathered stone without a trace of life. A perfectly fitting background, the thundering sky flickers with an unearthly light, an aurora of hell. A few lonely gravestones litter the ground, unloved and forgotten. I drag my eyes back to the lifeless house, they settle and a light flicks on. It flickers and jumps from window to window, whipping the clearing into a frenzy of gruesome life. “Stop!” I yell desperately and the light vanishes. Wind races around with a hoarse shout. Taking a deep breath, I take my first step onto the carved stone stairs. All sound stops. Except the heavy, moist breathing in my ear. I turn, an expression of horror pasted upon my face Free
Think of. A thunder of hooves through the glittering drops; a pearly white curl, shimmering hair; majestic and proud, his back flows round smoothly, graceful as an angel, strong as a tree; arching neck, crowned by a mane, free as a bird, soft as its feather, drifting to the ground; clear diamond eyes, sharp as a sword. And atop his soft but firm brow, a horn of pure silver, swirled with mystique. A scream echoes through the silent house. I bolt upright, slamming my head on the servant bunk barely 3 feet above mine. Stubbing my toe on the way down I hop around swearing silently. Another scream and the so far non-awakened servants are roused from their slumber. Calls echo around me as butlers, maids and other miscellaneous servants struggle to find lamps and collect themselves enough to find the reason of the screams. Everyone knows the identity. Miss Henrietta Theomen. Lady of the house now her mother is ‘sadly’ deceased. No one missed her when she died. Cutting the train of thought, I run up the servants stairs to the Misses room. On finding it empty, I race to the Mr Theomen’s followed by a butler hoarsely stage-whispering for me to slow down. I don’t. I do however reach the room in time for another ear piercing scream. The Miss sit there on the floor sobbing her heart out, Mr T lies sprawled out next to her in a rapidly increasing lake of crimson blood, a knife imbedded in his chest. Right through the wedding ring he wears round his neck. I stand frozen in the doorway, servants behind me.
Later Everyone sits around the table, shocked into silence. We are in the pool room as it is the only place they feel safe. The butler breaks the silence “Servants,” he say in his oily baritone “somewhere in this house is a murderer!” Shouts break out around me “Silence!” again the butler controls the rabble “I recommend we search the house at-” I cut him short “No, that won’t be necessary. The Master's room was locked and the door wasn’t forced. The murderer is in our midst!” Trust me they didn’t take that well. Instead of erupting into a chaos of noise they just sit there, staring aghast at me. Movement at last, the maids heads start to swivel to look at each other with venomous glares that betray the amount of gossip that thrives among them. Manservants begin to rise, accusations and lying ‘sightings’ of servants doing dirty acts. The butler takes charge again. “Be quiet!” he bellows “We-” whatever he was saying is lost to me. The scene in the pool room disappears and is replaced by what I dimly recognize as outside Mr Theomans room, except covered by a rosy hue. The door is open a crack and Jackson, a delivery boy is peering in. I hurry along and join him. What is inside sends a jolt through me. The warehouse. No one wants to go there. We will be the first to go in and come out. 11 others haven’t. Its 5pm and we will enter at 5am. Those are the conditions for winning the money and fame. The rusted door groans as it lifts and the loudspeaker counts down, counting the 3 of us to our possible doom. The whole village waits behind me and my friends, hoping to see us emerge in 12 hours. And some hope we don’t so they can attempt to claim the prize. “Go!” the call bounces around the open, looming mouth of the warehouse. I walk inside. Its filled to the brim with heavy nothingness. I shine the torch down and gulp back vomit as the beam passes through the rust mottled walkway and falls on a skeleton, yellowed with age, curled tightly in the corner. So very tightly. Jack, my brother, walks past where I’m frozen and gently takes the torch, spinning it around the desolate space. Spiderwebs drift like curtains, shielding us from the horror this night will undoubtedly be full of. Empty crates leave an echo of a time lost to mystery. Dusty brown air spirals round the closed door right behind us. Netted iron walkways stretch all around us, our cage for 12 hours.
A scream from behind. I whirl to see Rosie desperately swiping bloody acid from her top as it sizzles through. “What!” I yell as I see more falling. A waterfall of magenta blood forms a deadly pool fizzing towards us. Crunching iron under my feet. I stumble blindly forwards hoping for something to help us escape. Nothing. Trip fall and grab a rung. Rung. “Ladder!” I scream and Jack runs over closely followed by a near hysterical Rosie. Swinging down 3 at a time I hit the ground suddenly, roll and grasp for my gun. Its gone. Defenseless in a haunted warehouse. we run from the now red ladder. “Rosie!” I shout. She can’t run fast enough. A dull weight settles in my chest. A wave rears behind her, before it touches her. A flash of blinding light. A hole of darkness. It's been 2 hours. Jack and I are perched on top of a dust covered red crate with what remains of our supplies. Very little. The red blood retreated after the flash and we haven’t seen anything else. Yet. My chest is empty and part of me is seriously considering giving up to the malicious forces at work in this !?!@?! warehouse. I watch dust particles, floating as if they were nothing. I wish I was. I turn my neck stiffly, and stare at Jack. Cold, dark and deadly he never panics, never shows any weakness and never any emotion. Just like the warehouse, with his dark hair, pale skin and colourless clothing, Jack looks like something out of a vampire novel. Rosie was different. She was compassionate, optimistic and brave. We wouldn’t of taken her if she hadn’t insisted. I shouldn’t have given in. Now her and her pink army gear are gone forever. My fault. Jack would say to face the guilt and conquer it. She would tell me to stop beating myself up and watch cute animal videos. Guess which advice I prefer more. we need to get going but frankly, i can't get the energy to move, or even the willpower. Strange shadows play on the wall, twisted dreams of a madman. Idly I wonder what cast them. “Leana” Jack says suddenly “There’s something I need to tell you. The shad-” his words are cut of by a loud crash. A dusty container along the row from us is completely crushed. By nothing. I stare as the next one closer to us is crushed too, and the next one, and the next one. Shock ripples through my body like an icy wave. Two containers left before we’re completely destroyed. No, I’m completely destroyed. Jack is already tossing our supplies of our container and preparing to jump. Something flickers in his eyes, a sort of hesitation, before he runs over to help me. Second icy emotion dunk of the day. Jack hurriedly glances at the gathering shadows. Something clicks in my mind as I land next to him. The crazy shadows, the crates crushed by nothing, Jacks worried glances, and the end of his sentence. Shadows. We’re fighting the shadows. I stare at Jack, he knew all along but didn’t tell anyone. That's why he insisted on so many torches. Torches that were in Rosie’s bag. Sprinting past him, jumping the rubble and racing to the derelict stairs, I run like someone chased by the very devil. Jack jumps towards me, hot on my tail and yelling at me. I don’t care. I need to get to the light before the shadows strike, and I know what they can do. Right behind Rosie before she dyed, the shadows writhed in primeval dance, a signal for destruction. But I can’t think of the past. Inside my brain I switch my thinking. And all is clear. The shadows are the ghosts of all that died here, fueled by the fear that surrounds this place. If they touch you, you’re dead. He slowly unfolds his body, leaves still floating around in a hypnotizing circuit over the formally still bodies of the police as they groan and awaken. The boy shakes of the daze and jumps up running, hoping desperately for a head start. Leaves crackle and sticks fly from his hopeless but pounding feet. He knows he is lost but something keeps him running, maybe the powers surging through his adrenaline pumped veins. Legs burning from the reckless escape that left the school devastated, head aching from the two blasts of golden light. Inside him it was like a bomb, a bomb of gold ready to explode at the slightest indication it was needed. New and completely out of control, his powers had exploded and he wished they were gone. Snow squeaked under his hurried feet and branches crumbled under the weight of fluoro snow.
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AuthorBefore anyone asks, Kitty may not be my real name but I am not telling you my other one!!!!!! Archives
September 2015
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