The snow raged furiously past the horrfying, great mansion. A courageous but evil-hearted, grey wind challenged the weakening steel gate that protected it. A black-coated figure still dared facing the storms and fought his way through the constantly growing layers of snow.
He reached the giant gates and hammered his gloved fist onto the shivering metal.
«Come on!» he bellowed. The cold and his worry combined to fuel his frustration, and made his voice sound hoarse with rage. «Let me in you bloody bastard!»
But the mansion's master would not open his fantastic gates. The black coat yelled a not very polite phrase at the annoyingly quiet house, and clung to the bars with nothing but his courage keeping him up. The windows were dark and empty. Not even the curtains were visible.
A metallic click made the man jump away from the gates. The thick, yet powdery and light snow sighed as the steel bars cringed up the driveway and the gates opened. The freezing metal swiped cooly through the enlarging masses of snow, opening up to the weather-blocked lane that lead to the massive, dark-wooded doors.
"I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch ..."
The man hurried through the snow towards the door with his white breath fading into the cold air. He struggled against the nature forces, panting against the frozen, seemingly solid air, slowly getting closer to the great doors.
It was with much relief that he stepped onto the stairs which led to the doors. The entrance. Warmth. With the snow howling behind him, he imagined finding lit candles, a crackling fireplace and the dinner on the table. Even though he did not live there, nor had he in any way earned himself a slice of anything to eat from the old man who was indeed the owner of that great house.
He opened the doors, happy to find out they responded easier than the steel gates. The black coat fluttered behind its wearer as he stormed through the enormous living room.
«Mr Tatch, I don't care about the weather, we need to talk ...» he hesitated for a moment, halting by an impressively large shelf, filled with antuiqe books. «... about the incident.» The man's eyes wandered across the ceiling almost thirty feet above him. It was encircled by a marble balcony, that seemed to disappear for eternities into rows and rows of bookshelfs. «The incident that occured last night.»
But then he kept silent, straightened the spine and looked expectingly around the dark library, waiting for the old man to appear.
But he did not. Displeasured, the visitor started to search through the gigantic halls, roaring their master's name over and over again, each time expecting, if not a strict answer, at least a reaction. But nothing happened. No one answered. No one even showed up.
The man fell into one of Mr Tatch's precious armchairs with a frown, sitting there so utterly alone. This enormous house and its never-ending walls surrounding him and him only. No one was here. No one lived here. No one had opened.
«Mr Tatch?» he asked the walls. They did not reply.
YOU ARE READING
The Cellar
Mystery / ThrillerThe town had really just waited for Mr Tatch to die. He was extremely old, and very rich, but had no friends, so his departure would not result in too much sadness after all his properties had been scattered among the greedy citizens of Montis. But...
