by Joshua Brooks

Created on: April 21, 2008

Predicament

As I approached the bottom of the house, something made me stop. An eerie wailing came up from the damp, dark alley behind me. I turned, nothing. Must have been the wind. I hobbled forward, my left arm, still limp from the accident, swaying aimlessly beside me. The dry, icy wind was blowing a gale. I could only hope that Johnny was right because now, I heard the rickety gate screech shut behind me, there was no turning back.

I looked up at the old, dank, uninviting, derelict black house bearing down in front of me. If Johnny was wrong... Panic began to take a grip on my stomach. What if the myths were true?

I spun frantically around. Nothing. All I could see was the great veil of blackness, shrouding my vision. The wailing began again. It seemed to surround me, entomb me. A great unearthly shriek, being whipped through the trees which seemed themselves to be slowly closing in above me, greedily eating away at my view of the night sky, of freedom, trapping me a cocoon, hidden from the outside world.

I made to turn back. I had to turn back. I wasn't one for scary movies and chilling tales. My blood was curdling enough without the suspenseful music. I'd have to find another way. But my bloodshot eyes could not be torn away from the alluring distraction of the front door - a giant sturdy wooden oak masterpiece. Glimmering was the door handle, perfectly carved and beautifully polished. It had to be pure gold. Yes! I suppose it can't hurt if I just... No! That's not why I came. I had to look away. Had to leave now!

I shut my eyes and dragged myself around a full half turn. The gate would be no more than ten meters away. Throwing my pale, chilled body into autopilot I put by head down, closed my eyes and bolted, my hands outstretched so as to not miss to miss the rusty metallic limbs of the only thing between me a freedom. I kept running. The gate must be further away than I'd anticipated, unless of course I had already passed it...somehow.

I continued running for what felt like a particularly long age, my energy was being sapped away as if I'd just wrestled a bear. Then it happened. My now aching left foot slammed into a sturdy stone object and my entire body face planted into a cold hard set of rough stairs. My brain seemed to dislodge itself and become squashed up on the left side of my now surely cracked skull. Blood was oozing out of my nose and head. A cold shiver crept up on me with every drop spilt. Where was I?

At least I'd escaped. With that

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