As the two stepped inside, the door creaked shut behind them with an unsettling "thunk" that echoed down into the stairway. At first they could barely see, the hall nothing more than a dark hollow before them with only the fat candles on the walls to light the way. They stood squinting into the blackness, smelling musty earth, cold and the damp, unable to take even one step forward. But in a few moments their eyes adjusted and they could faintly make out the line of the stairs heading almost straight down. "Um...yeah...not so sure about this." Moya murmured more to herself than anyone. But then she heard her grandmother's voice, "Be strong." Suddenly it seemed there was only one thing to do. As Moya took the first step, her ring glowed an eerie green, lighting the steps …show more content…
Moya blinked. "Well, that’s just stupid." Fritz stood beside her in the doorway and looked in. The room was lit by a strange, golden glow that apparently came from nowhere since there were no windows, and no lights that they could see. Like the stairway, the ceiling in the room loomed so far overhead that it disappeared in darkness. It was like being at the bottom of a very, very, very deep well. Moya stepped in and saw it looked much like her own attic, full of trunks and boxes and piles of stuff -- but, unlike her attic, there was no dust anywhere. It seemed as though everything had just recently been stored. But by who? In some respects it reminded her of pictures she’d seen of the inside of pyramid tombs -- stone walls, high ceilings -- except this room didn't look quite as old. Old, yes, but not that old. At first they stood in the doorway, not knowing where to start, what to do. They stood, Moya with her hands in the pockets of her overalls, Fritz tugging at his pajamas, suddenly wishing he were dressed, glad he at least had on sneakers. He suddenly realized the last thing he remembered before he woke up at Moya's was taking out the
... in that barren hall with its naked stair... rising into the dim upper hallway where an echo spoke which was not mine ut rather that of the lost irrevocable might-have-been which haunts all houses, all enclosed walls erected by human hands, not for shelter, not for warmth, but to hide from the world's curious looking and seeing the dark turnings which the ancient young delusions of pride and hope and ambition (ay, and love too) take.
All he could see was red, pure anger seeping through every one of his actions. He kicked and kicked in a brutal rhythm, not thinking about anything other than the fact that he hadn't been there when it happened. What if Amaimon had found out, said something and then been hurt because the other him lashed out in anger. He would hate himself forever. What if Amaimon had been killed? What if he'd come home to that? He couldn't stand the thought. In the end he may have been hitting the other him for touching his brother, for being here and convincing him he was his mate. But really it was his anger at himself that drove most of his actions. He could understand the other trying to cover things up to try and avoid any time line mishaps, deep down
She was surprised to find cabinets full of food, what seemed like an endless supply of fire wood, water and in the back room a very plush looking bed. She wished then that she would have had her wits about her enough to pass out on the bed instead of the rug pile. She ran her fingers across the mantle of the fireplace which seemed as natural a thing for her to do as breathing. The moment that her finger tips reached the end of the mantle piece, Hazel heard a small popping noise and noticed that one of the bricks above the mantle had fallen out of
The young woman jerks upward, pressing her body firmly against the wall for support. Her eyes afford a fleeting glance into the remaining room. She sees nothing dissimilar from the room before it, save for the lack of a window. She paces to the door. Her trembling fingers tease at the rusted surface of the handle before roughly drawing it open. Behind it resides a stark darkness. Temptation trickles up the length of her spine as she peers into the void. Slightly stumbling she closes the door shut and starts back into the first chamber.
It was only when she started to hear movement outside of her chamber’s door did she realise that she had been far too deep into her thoughts. As she sighed to herself, still looking out one of the one window’s of her chamber; it had always been a problem for her it seemed, getting this deep into thought and forgetting her
but I remembered her tiny loft back in Brooklyn that I had visited once or twice when I was younger. The door creaked open and revealed hardwood floors and exposed brick walls that made me strangely nostalgic for industrial living spaces. Our home in Edinburgh was far more traditional than this small two bedroom modernised apartment. I dumped my rucksack onto the bed in the spare room that Allison had made up for me before she left and decided to explore the apartment - not that there was a lot to
It was bare, nothing but an overgrown jungle of brown grass and weeds. Maybe, it had scared everyone away, leaving the house abandoned and neglected; I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to stay there knowing what’s inside. However, that was the exact reason I had to go in. Turning my sights from the garden, I faced the front where the entrance to the house was staring right at me. It was morphed into a vertical maze as twisted vines wrapped their tentacles around the door.
“Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy bed which is all we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the wars” (Gilman 311). The narrator doesn't feel comfortable in the room and notices all of its imperfections. As the story progresses, the room slowly starts to creep more and more from the physical world into her
Once one got nearer, the archway opened up until one could see the whole front of the house in a somehow eerie way. Around the windows grew ivy and creepers, twisting their way up to the roof in a claw like fashion. The windows themselves were sparkling clean, but the curtains were drawn in most of them, even though it was almost noon. The doors were of solid pieces of dark oak and the two windows above it seemed to give the whole house a rather formidable look.
As I walk down the stairs, step by step, it appears to become darker and darker. Water drips on my head from the ceiling. I must be in the basement. I see a brass candleholder with a lit candle placed on it. I put my finger through the loop, lifting it off the dusty table to light my way.
“Now and then we would see her in one of the downstairs windows—she had evidently shut up the top floor of the house—like the carven torso of an idol in a niche, looking or not looking at us, we could never tell which. Thus she passed from generation to generation—dear, inescapable, impervious, tranquil, and perverse.” (128)
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
Approaching the deteriorating mahogany door, standing proud amidst the encroaching vines, it creaked with an ominous groan as I stepped into the dark foyer; as the shadows in the house swallowed the light, it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust and register what would once have been a grand staircase now shrouded in dust and a grand living room before me, taking in a musty and damp breath, similar to the dampness of ageing wine in a cellar. I lighted a candle to compensate the sudden darkening of the large impressive room. A fluttering by
There were several raised stones on the ground from what you could see but there was no way in hell you were going to touch them... Yet. Flowey tugged your hair lightly and pointed to a dusty square on the wall. Looked like…a plaque? There had to be several years’ worth of dust covering it and wiping it off made your hand feel crusty.
As the sun slowly settled, darkness began to overcome the Earth. Sickness—had come. The sickness slowly but readily crept into each home. It was the Midnight Theft. The destructive plague stole during midnight—it stole lives. Deep in the heart of Tukenasville, people were dying, and the whole country was beginning to perish. The flowers withered as they bloomed. The mountain peaks crumbled under steer weight. Animals fled to holes to live out the final moments of their life. People were distraught, and chaos was invading every planet in the macrocosm. People called me Nikolaou Gonfalon. I was the last of the Warriors of Phos. Long ago, the Sisters of Moiré ordained my doomed fate. I tried to bargain with them to change it, but in the end, I captured them and locked them up in a repository on a cliff. I was to lead the expedition to find the cure for the Midnight Theft. That, however, was not the reason why I would go on this journey. My best friend, Tolem, was dying of a rare illness called Takigifeay. It was causing the slow built up of lactic acid on his bones. I knew that death would come to him soon. Legend spoke about a necklace that can bring life to anyone or thing. It was said to have been belonged to an Oceanian, one of the water people. The Lost Jade Necklace of Serenity was what it was called, and it could bring healing to the Earth. Nonetheless, it could be the obliteration of mankind, also. I began to pack since my journey was to start at that moment.