The Puppet's Playtime...

[Artiste]

[OOC] This is a concoction of Sem's and mine. Basically, follow the rules, and no sexual stuff, please? That has -no- place here. Or anywhere else IF YOU WANT TO JOIN, PM ME WITH YOUR REQUEST. Whoever joins without asking will have me tattling on them to Sem. :] [/OOC]

Rain and tree branches blown by the wind lashed the windows ferociously as the old man paced the room. Thunder rang in his ancient ears, and lightning flashed, illuminating the room. The bloodstains on the walls, the old paintings with eyes that seemed to follow you around the room...
not to mention the puppet staring at him, its ripped clothes and bloodstained face lit up by the lightning. It was enough to drive the strongest-minded person alive to insanity. The puppet watched its puppeteer, or, more specifically, his own puppet, pace the room, with its bulbous, red eyes. Meanwhile, it listened to the thunder peal and the wind howl. It grinned maniacally to itself for no reason, but to scare the old man.

"Why don't we... do a little exploring, eh...? It might... do your heart some good... getting some... exercise..." called the puppet, in its spine-chilling, screeching voice.

"... yes... that would be good..." replied the feeble old man, unable to resist the puppet. He was getting too old, his willpower was fading. And the... things... attached to the puppet's forearms made it even more so. They were spikes, the point sharp enough to pierce steel. They were permanently stained red from all of the blood that they had shed. It seemed like they also permanently dripped blood-red liquid... whatever the case, the man didn't want to deal with it.

"Good answer... if you had answered otherwise, I might've had to... deeeeeal with you..." he cackled in a way that sent shivers down the old man's spine.

The old man inserted his arm into the puppet's back, and opened the door. As usual, The Corridor greeted him. The Corridor was a long, seemingly never ending hallway, which was ominous, to say the least. There were weapons from the old man's father's collection literally lining the walls, and the stuffed heads of certain animals... and the bloodstains. It was like someone had taken a bleeding corpse and dragged it along the wall... it was menacing beyond human measure. The old man stepped hesitantly into The Corridor, not wanting to travel into the unknown of the house... the door closed behind him as he stepped.

~*~*~*~*~

Erick and Abigail stood on the edge of the woods, their hoods keeping the worst of the rain from attacking their faces. They really didn't like having their backs to the ominous forest... who knows what could be in there.

"I reaaaaally don't feel like this is a good idea, Abi..." said Erick, hesitantly. Erick was fourteen years-old, around five feet-eleven inches, blond-haired and blue-eyed, and had a good musculature. He was quite handsome, with almond-shaped eyes and a nose that wasn't too round, nor too pointy. He had a square chin, and dazzling, straight white teeth. He was the more responsible of the two.

"Aw, you're such a scaredy-cat, Erick. Man up! Rumor is... nobody who ever goes in comes out. Oooooooh, scary," she added sarcastically. "Like I’d ever believe those crazy rumors; they’re all a bunch of hooey." Abigail was also fourteen, only about a week younger than Erick, but was much shorter, around five feet-four inches. She had light brown hair, and always-inquisitive green eyes. She was very pretty, also with almond-shaped eyes, though she had a smaller nose, and a thinner chin than her compatriot, as she should.

"I don't know, Abi. I really don't have a good feeling about this. You know... what if we don't come back? What will our parents think?" Erick replied, a bit scared at the prospect of entering 'The House.' He had heard... stories about it. How there was an old man who never aged, and a puppet that ate people, was eight feet-tall and had teeth like giant spikes.

"Heh, quit being a chicken, Erick. We'll come back; they're just rumors!" She had known what Erick was thinking about; they were best friends, after all. She knew the exact lines along which her friend thought. "Come on, we'll just nip in and get right out. What could it hurt?"

"A lot," he mumbled in reply.

"You say something?" she inquired.

"Nope," he answered sullenly. "I don't want to let you go in alone, so let's just go already and get it over with."

"That's the spirit!" she cried. She ignored Erick's attempts to shush her, but instead marched up to the door. She didn't bother knocking, but instead pushed on the handle. It opened with a shriek of protest that Erick was sure woke whoever... or whatever... was in there. He shushed her again, and this time she actually heeded his warning... she didn't want to take the chance. Erick doubted that anyone did. She walked in, and they stood, gaping.

~*~*~*~

The old man watched the children through the slits in the eyes of one of the paintings. He silently wished against hope that they would leave before they, too, were... consumed by the house, and the things that inhabited it, aside from the old man. He didn't want more innocent souls trapped in this Hell on earth. There were already so many dead... the accursed creatures had gotten to them, yet miraculously the old man had survived, as he always did. Always. It seemed like his life... would never cease. The pain wouldn't stop. He just wanted to go. Die and go to wherever it is people go after death. He wasn't a Christian, atheist, nor anything else. He had no idea where he was going; anything was possible in his mind.

"What's... going on, old man...? I can't... see... tell me! NOW!" The last command was so full of malice and power, the old man had no choice.

"... two kids just walked in. They're being fooled by the illusion," he explained.

"Excellent... don't do anything to.... ruin this for me... lest you suffer... the consequences..." replied the puppet.

"I know the drill... it's happened thirteen times."

"Good old man..." it cackled evilly as the old man walked away.

~*~*~*~*~

The house was perfectly kept. There was crimson wallpaper, a large fireplace against the wall facing the door, which had a warm, inviting fire blazing, and there were portraits of people on the walls whom could only be the owners of the mansion. There were far too many to name. There were stairs on either side of the fireplace, with plush red carpeting, whereas the floor had beautiful, polished wooden boards, with a rug and a couple of expensive armchairs in front of the fire, along with a two person couch. The two teens walked forward in wonder, asking themselves how the outside could be so ghastly, while the inside could be so wondrous.

Abigail started walking up the stairs, fearlessly, while Erick stayed back a bit. "Abi, you sure that we should do this? I just have this really, really bad feeling... I can't explain it."

"Quit being a chicken, Erick!" she exclaimed from the stairs. "Come on!"

He reluctantly followed. He really had a terrible, unshakable feeling that something bad was going to happen. He just couldn't get rid of it. "Hmm... I feel like I'm being watched," he whispered to himself.

A voice from nowhere cried out, desperately, "Run, children! Don't be stuck here like I am! I beg of you, get out while you can!" Abigail and Erick froze in place at the call. "Please," he continued. "Get out... before it gets you... run..." The second that sentence was finished, there was a sound like someone was being stabbed, and an anguished cry rang out over the crackling of the fire, and the beating of the teens' hearts. They made a break for the door at full speed, but as they were about halfway there, it shut loudly, with a cackle that chilled the children to the core.

"WELCOME, CHILDREN, TO MY HOUSE. ENJOY IT, YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING. AHAHAHA!"

 

[Sem]

Kyran pulled his black hood over his head in an attempt to escape the merciless rain that barraged the group of people out by the old house.

Some of his black hair was matted against his pale face, water dripping onto the front of his black hoodie which was zipped up, his hands were hidden inside the pockets. On his legs he wore a pair of slightly loose, black jeans and on his feet were well-worn white and black checkered shoes.

"I long to be like yoooouuuu." he sang softly to himself as his dark brown eyes stared back and forth between the people in the group and the house looming behind them. "Lie cold in the ground like yoooouuuu..."

Kyran was considered a friend of Erick and Abigail and he was seen with them often, despite his completely different look. Besides having a penchant for dark clothing he possessed a shorter than average body, shorter than either Erick and Abigail anyhow, though despite his shortness he was not terribly skinny. He had an about average musculature, or he almost did, he would if he worked out more. He was also fourteen years old.

"That's the spirit!" he heard Abigail yell excitedly and with that the two of them started to make their way into the house. Kyran followed silently behind the two. He didn't feel too well about going into the house but away he went anyway, for lack of anything better to do, there was probably nothing at all wrong with the property anyway, just whack-stories and urban legends.

As soon as he walked in and pulled back his soaking hood he was surprised to find the house completely different that what he imagined. The inside was spotless, despite how forlorn it looked on the outside. A fire burned brightly, filling the room with a warm glow.

"Funny..." Kyran thought to himself. I don't remember seeing any light from the outside... and his mind starting working, becoming very suspicious, and he hoped he wasn't the only person who realized this.

Abigail began ascending the stairs with Erick following reluctantly behind. Kyran was in no hurry to go any further and stayed where he was.

As soon the voiced boomed through the house, begging them to leave, Kyran bolted towards the still open door before the man was abruptly silenced. As he was about to reach the gateway out of the house the doors slummed shut of their own accord.

Kyran pulled and pulled at the handles and kicked the door as hard as he could, but it felt as if they were suddenly made of concrete.

"WELCOME, CHILDREN, TO MY HOUSE. ENJOY IT, YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING. AHAHAHA!"

His heart sank in a way he could never describe and all color had gone from his face as he saw the house slowly transform before him.

 

[Chadwyck]

"Well, this weather certainly doesn't bode well..." Damien, who preferred to be called by either his middle name, Levi, or simply the letter D, sat under a tree at the edge of the clearing, arms folded tightly against his dark green hoodie to warm himself from the chilling rain.

It was raining so hard that the water had soaked through his jacket and began to soak into his t-shirt, his dark blue jeans uncomfortably clung to his legs. His red and black Converse Hi-tops were soaked through and he was ready to just go home. He had his right iPod headphone in and rocked his head in accordance to the rhythm of the song.

He looked around at the others he'd come out to the house with, like them he was also fourteen, his fifteenth birthday wasn't for another month. He considered all these people his closest friends, which was the reason he didn't tell them he didn't want to go to the old house, that and he had to maintain his usual 'too cool to care' attitude. Still, the stories circulating around the place terrified him, he was uneasy just sitting outside of the place. He pushed his hood back and ran his fingers through his dark auburn hair.

"That's the spirit!" He heard Abigail yell as she excitedly led Erick up toward the old house. Damien removed his headphone and pocketed the mp3, and, with a final longing glance back into the forest, followed hesitantly behind the others.

The door opened with a loud creak that sent a chill down Damien's spine. Against his better judgment he walked into the waiting house. As he entered he saw the interior of the house, it was fully furnished complete with portraits and armchairs, there was even a fire burning. "The outside looks abandoned, he thought with a quick look out the still open door, "But the inside is so well cared for? The sight of the interior should have comforted him, but all it did was make him feel even more uneasy. From the look on Kyran's face he wasn't too comfortable either.

Abigail was teasing Erick to climb the stairs and Damien was about to protest when a voice echoed through the house, sincerely frightened, and sincerely begging them to leave. As the warning ended it was followed by a cry of pain. Damien was too terrified to run, his hazel eyes shot from Abigail and Erick still on the stairs, to Kyran who ran for the door as it slammed shut of its own doing, and back to the others on the stairs.

"WELCOME, CHILDREN, TO MY HOUSE. ENJOY IT, YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING. AHAHAHA!"

Damien felt as if he were literally going to die of fright, his heart was beating so rapidly it felt as though it were going to burst and his feet felt as if they were made of steel.

He fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands, "What's going on?" He repeated in a whisper over and over again.

 

[LaenVulpix]

The late-summer air was chilled underneath the added weight of dark, brooding thunderclouds and the steady onslaught of rain; wind that was as cold as ice sliced through Leander Fin's heavy parka, loose, full-length black coat, and white, collared button-down like all the layers were only so much butter in a dish. The young man's exposed face had long since grown numb from the constant rain and ever-changing wind torrents.

His face was set to vaguely-annoyed as he squinted one eye and peered up at the sky, receiving nothing but stinging rain in the one he hadn't closed and a small glimpse of the towering stretches of dark gray-black clouds that had cast a spell of premature night over the evening. His hands, hidden beneath waterproof black gloves that disappeared beneath his equally waterproofed parka, opened and closed to keep the fingers from going stiff (when they didn't know how long they'd be out here, it was best to make sure they didn't have to call off the whole thing on account of hypothermia). His hair, shaggy and long and unkempt no matter how long he worked at it (which, admittedly, was never very long at all), was pinned beneath two hoods — the rough brown of his parka and the more stylized black from his coat. A few locks peeked from beneath the materials, a shade of blond bleached just shy of white from countless hours underneath piercing sunlight.

His bright eyes, almost unnaturally so, watched as the last of the group of children stepped over the old, old house's threshold. He was trying to discern whether the boy's hair had been brown or red when a voice jerked him from his reverie.

"You don't think those children are connected to the disappearances, do you?" His partner, dressed as carefully for the elements as he was, bellowed at him above the roar of the storm.

Her long red hair, usually neat and glued into the icon of perfection by no small amount of aerosol hairspray (killing the atmosphere, she was — but he tried not to hold too big a grudge, since it might get in the way of work) was windblown beneath her own hood, semi-curly strands framing her heart-shaped face. Freckles marched across the bridge of her nose and generously decorated her cheeks, drawing attention away from the two pools of dark chocolate-brown that were her eyes. She was offering him an inquisitive glance, meaning the question hadn't been as rhetorical as he had hoped.

He leaned against the trunk of one of the spindly trees that encircled the ancient mansion like starved wolves, and shrugged. "This early on, it doesn't matter what I think, Harris." He commented noncommittally, although the wind tore most of the words from his mouth.

He waited until she opened her lips in reply to continue. "But, no. I'd say that most of them were scared witless, so I doubt they know anything. If anything, they could be new potential victims."

"You can't know for sure-"

"Which was why I explained that it doesn't really matter."

She glared at him, perhaps two years younger than him and far too determined to prove how much better she was than any man in the agency. It was going to get her killed one day. Or fired. Or she might just run out of fire early and retire to deskwork like half of the people that were coming in nowadays. No matter what, she didn't use her head enough.

She shivered as the rain pelted them and washed over the the different surfaces. The dull, lifeless green leaves on the trees they had staked out under stemmed some of the water from drilling them, but for the most part they were thrashing about wildly in the howling wind, shaking out as much water as they caught - without the water-resistant material of their gear, they'd have been drenched no matter how deep into the forest they had hidden. An abrupt flash of electrical-blue lit the dark sky for all of a second, and everything seemed to pause for that instant— the blond-haired agent clenched his teeth as the following crackle of angry, loud thunder jolted the air. His fingers tightened again, but his expression changed not at all.

"So are we going?" Agent Alison Harris called out, shifting her weight from foot to foot and squinting ahead at the dark presence that was the house. "Or what?"

"Ladies first." Leander said earnestly, smiling in the face of his partner's acidic scowl and following behind as she crouched low and began to cross the overgrown, tangled copse of grass separating the treeline from the dark silhouette of a house.

The two shifted through the knee-high grass, weeds and long stalks of dark green bending amiably to let them by, and stopped in front of the house's thick, wooden door. If it followed with the same code as the rest of the house, no doubt it was rotting and the nails were rusted with age.

The door seemed to symbolize just how long a task this was going to be, and Leander felt the sudden, unshakable need for something alcoholic. He sighed, one hand resting lightly on the holster of his handgun while Alison ascended the mansion's few steps onto the the porch. Mimicking the first kid's action, she ignored pleasantries and wrapped one feminine hand on the door's handle.

And froze.

Her back to him, he couldn't see her expression, but he could see the way her body drew up in apprehension, as if the handle had been an open circuit. As if she had an electrical current coursing through her.

"Harris? Harris!" He shouted above the pouring rain and howling wind and snarling tree branches and swaying grass.

She pulled away, and the abrasive look she offered him told him she hadn't felt anything. "It won't open." She snapped, stopping on the top step and standing over him.

He could picture her arms crossed beneath her parka.

What the hell...?

"Then we'll have to find a different way in." He sighed out, not interested in breaking down the front door when they had no idea what could be waiting for them inside. It was better to find an alternate entry and possibly take the upper hand....but....

...had the kids locked the door, or was it someone else?

He wasn't going to leap to any conclusions.

.||..||.||||...|.

The first window they stopped beside opened easily enough after some insistent prying, and the dull glass, caked so thickly with a buildup of dirt and dust that nothing besides a dark haze was visible through it, swung open outwards. The rain immediately began to smear the grime on the inside of the dirty glass. Alison offered her older partner a strained smile as they hunkered down underneath the windowsill, guns drawn and pointed at the sludgy puddle of muddy water several feet away.

The distracted agent ignored the expression completely, faded blue eyes the color of worn Levis staring fixedly at the water as it pattered on the open glass, and the woman turned to see what she could see inside the house from their position.

He followed the trail of mixed water and dirt sloughing down the windowpane, a twinge of confusion creasing his brow. He could see the brown and dusty gray from the dirt and dust...but what was the other dark, dark (and familiar, too) color? It should've been indiscernible in the driving rain, but he was willing to place a bet anyway.

He would've put his money on that color, mixing in with the rest, being a deep shade of red. Thick, pure, and quite black in the approaching darkness. His heartbeat quickened as the realization hit, but he mindlessly crushed the fear that came with it.

"Agent Harris?"

He tightened his hold on his handgun and waited almost a minute.

"Harris?"

He swallowed and heaved a shaky, tired sigh, as if he already knew what was coming.

He turned around and stared at a stark red hand print, smudged only slightly on the inside of the glass in a thick, dark substance, in place of his defiant fellow agent. He could almost trace the hand print's heart line if he leaned in slightly.

" Hey - Alison!" He called out, already clambering over the window frame to follow his partner - wherever she'd gone — and wondering why the hell he hadn't heard anything.

As he climbed through the window and dropped soundlessly to the floor, a wave of cold passed over him and his skin broke into gooseflesh. Previously the entire interior of the house had been black as a moonless night. Now it was dimly lit - not much better, but definitely a change; and he could see old-fashioned decor lining the walls. Medieval weapons winked at him from their mounts on the wall, and the glass stares of lifeless animals pinned him in place like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. His bright, light eyes were fixed on the thick line of blood that dragged itself across the wall like an obscene brushstroke the color of dried blood. He didn't know what was happening, only that it was bad.

"Harris?" He tried once, and his voice came out in a pathetic wheeze. He cleared his throat weakly and one of his feet slid involuntarily back towards the window again, as if his core instincts were telling him to get out, get out, get out right now. "Harris?"

There, his voice had evened out again. He'd seen plenty of splattered blood before. Dozens of grotesque scenes and dead bodies in various stages of decay. That was his job. It wouldn't do now to lose control of himself when he was investigating the scene of thirteen disappearances - quite possibly murders - and his partner had decided to perform her own disappearing act.
But...

Outside.

He needed to get outside, regardless of his state of mind. Go back outside, regroup, and call for reinforcements. Backup. Lots of it if possible.

A small part of him whispered, It's not possible... and he hated it vehemently. Because it was the part of others that he always laughed at, making light jokes that held a sarcastic bite underneath.

And because the larger part of him was believing it.

.||..||.||||...|.










((...tired....of.....writing. Tired, period. x.x That and this went from 'kinda bad' to 'WTF WHUT HAPPENED TO THE QUALITY??' too fast. D=

I'll make it up next post, 'nless I messed something up this post. Then I'll fix this one, then work on the next one. xD;;;;)

 

[Artiste]

[OOC]... stupid power dying erased a bit. >> Anyway, this post was so long in coming because of a combination of things, which I won't go into. Needless to say, it's here now.[/OOC]

Erick and Abigail stood on the stairs, frozen in shock. They didn't even realize that their friends, Kyran and Damien, had followed them into the building. Now, it wasn't the voice that rang out over the large, comfortable room that had them rooted to their respective spots; Erick, with his foot frozen a few inches above the first step, and Abigail, who was standing a few steps higher, a terrified expression on her face. In fact, it was the change that was becoming reality in the room, right in front of their eyes. The crackling fire died, the armchairs and couches began to get moth holes, tears and mold covering nearly the entirety, the wallpaper began to peel, and the pictures of the beautiful people on the walls changed. They became menacing, terrifying creatures that were ghosts of their former form; ghastly smiles, pale skin, and pointed teeth; ragged, shabby hair that hung in dreadful curtains from their once-handsome heads.

The voice, the bone-chilling, terrible voice, had seemingly come from behind on of those paintings... but they were so high off the ground, they couldn't investigate the source, as Erick knew Abi wanted to do. Unfrozen from his place among the stairs, Erick sprinted for the double doors, running past Kyran and Damien, whom he had just noticed. He tried the doors frantically, but to no avail. They were as good as glued, boarded and locked several times, for all they moved.

"It's no use..." he said to no one in particular."We're doomed. We're never gonna get out of here without being eaten or something by whatever the heck that creature was."

As he spoke, he heard a scream. "Abi?" he cried. "ABI! What's happening, is something wrong?!" She continued screaming as he whipped around, only to see the stairs contorting in odd shapes; one of those shapes was a mouth. A dark abyss with no hope of escape, and Abi was right over it, holding on the decayed wood railing. All of a sudden, in the space of two seconds, Abi was sucked in, and the mouth closed as the railing whipped and bucked and threw her off, into the gaping maw of the house.

The monster house was satisfied.

"ABIGAIL!" he cried to the heavens at the top of his lungs, falling to his knees with his head in his hands; all hope gone, and despair filling his entirety he vowed to exact his revenge. Abi was gone. Erick's best friend in the world, his partner in crime was gone. Abi was his best friend, forever. They went everywhere together, a perfect contrast. Abi, the adventurous, happy-go-lucky half of the puzzle was gone. Erick, the deliberate, reasoning half was suddenly all alone in the world. He suddenly felt a hole in his heart, a void that almost nothing could fill. He'd known that he loved Abi for a while, and he would do anything he could to get back at the house as revenge for killing his best friend.

"Kyran, Damien, you guys have to get the heck out of here." He held up a hand as to quell any questions pertaining to what he would do, saying, "I'm going to stay, and get back at this demon house. Find a way out. This is my job, not anyone else's. Abi's been sucked up by the house, and I'm going to see if she's still alive. If she is, then we'll escape together. If not, I'll do anything in my power to destroy this house once and for all, even if it takes my life."

He waved at his friends, saying "Goodbye, and best of luck to you," before sprinting towards the nearest door, tearing it open and running into the hallway beyond. Part of him wanted his friends to follow, but that was only the selfish, survivalist part of him; every other part of him wanted them out, safe and sound.

 

[Sem]

Kyran stood silently as Erick ran off into the uknown depths of the house. He looked at Damien for moment before finally speaking.

"W-We should get out of here, Levi." He stuttered as he looked behind him at the front door of the house. He took a few steps back and then suddenly ran at the door with all his might in an attempt to break it open.

The sound of a creaking crunch was heard from the woods as Kyran slammed into it again and again to no avail; the doors simply shook in their frames. Panting, Kyran put his shaking hands on his knees and caught his breath before taking a look around.

Cautiously, Kyran stepped over to one of the walls and took a mace that was mounted on the wall. He quickly stepped away as soon as he it, though he did not expect it to be so heavy and it fell to the ground with a loud crach, breaking the eroded flooring.

Grasping it firmly Kyran walked over to the door and with a rapid intake of breath held it above his head, his muscles straining, and brought it forward.

BANG

The sound was loud and the force of the blow would've been enough to knock down any normal wooden doors.

Kyran brought the medieval back over his head and continued the beating of door. Hope sparked to life within him when he saw the wood of the door splintering under the weapon.

"Hey, Levi! It's working!" he said excitedly as he hit it once more. "Come help me!"

The boy soon lost count of how many times he had struck the door but he didn't care. Splinters flew as again and again with each blow and with a satisfying crunch the doors flew outward off of their hinges.

The mace fell to the ground and Kyran dropped to his knees, horrified and confused beyond belief to see not the outside world, to not feel the rain or the wind from before, or the smell of nature, but another room of the demonic house. He felt dust enter his lungs and the smell of ruin invaded his nose as he saw the blood covered walls and floor and dilapidated furniture lit by depressing candlelight.

"We're never going to get out of here..."

 

[Chadwyck]

As Damien watched his friend run into the unknown depths of the house in search of Abigail, he had to fight the impulse to run after him.

He felt that he should try and make Erick think straight and get out of the house with him and Kyran, but he knew that he wouldn't listen to reason, he was blinded by revenge. Plus, if Damien and Kyran could get out, they could go for help: Damien could only pray that it wouldn't be too late.

Damien jumped slightly when Kyran spoke to him: breaking the silence. "Y-Yea, let's go." The murderous intent of the house itself was palpable as Kyran began ramming against the door with all his might. Damien could only watch his friends struggle, without even realizing it he had become a spectator to his friends struggle.

He watched Kyran's calculating brain go to work as he carefully grabbed a mace that mounted on the wall. The crash that had resounded when Kyran dropped the mace sent shivers down Damien's spine, and awoke him from his daze, he moved closer to the door intent on no longer simply watching his friend struggle.

Kyran banged away on the door and finally the fruits of his labor were seen as the door began to splinter under the assault with the mace.

Damien's spirit was lifted immediately when he saw the splintering wood, and he was at the door before Kyran had even finished his sentence. Kyran raised the mace again and struck the door, and after each of Kyran's swings, Damien would put all of his might into kicking the door as hard as he could. He knew it wouldn't be as effective as the mace, but the thought of escaping this God-forsaken Hell-hole motivated him to keep on trying.

It felt as though they had been trapped in this house for a lifetime, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, he kept on telling himself.

Finally, the door gave way and swung free of it's hinges and fell to the ground with a loud crash. Damien rushed into the room, waiting to feel the chill of the rain attacking his face, the night air fill his lungs, but the only thing he inhaled was dust. He turned and saw Kyran on his knees, he muttered something.

Damien stood in the doorway to the new room that had been on the other side of the front door, the gruesome scene of blood covering the room and the furniture that was falling apart burned itself into Damien's mind. "It's not possible," Damien said as he turned around frantically, looking at every inch of the room and then back to Kyran, "It's just not possible! We should be out!" Damien screamed, and then he lost all will to do anything and fell to his knees, almost mirroring the exact pose Kyran was in.

"We're trapped, there's no way out." Damien hung his head, tears of fear and frustration filled his eyes.