Pagebound

Chapter II

In Maxwell's personal opinion, there is not an awful lot that can be said about a house. Therefore according to his preconceived ideologies concerning the subject; this house could not possibly be considered as a house as it did not have any of the plain, boring characteristics that could be expected from such a structure. No, this was beautiful.

The imposing house stood approximately 49 feet tall, towering over Maxwell, luring him into its dim shadow. The dark ebony wood that wrapped around the frail figure of the house was slightly tinted at the corners making it look as though it was sketched roughly with charcoal.

The soft rain tapped on the house, echoing through the extrinsic windows. An indistinguishable species of bird cawed in the distance snapping Maxwell out of his aw-stricken state. He shivered, pausing for a nanosecond to contemplate just how the action he was soon about to commit bared a significant resemblance to the beginning of a really cheesy Hallmark horror movie.

But, his brain become numb with the light gust of icy wind that blew past and he dismissed the thought entirely.

Turning away from the wind he pulled the frayed collar of his trench coat up to stop the rain patting softly as his neck.

His hands shook slightly as he reached for the ornate metal doorknob that hung, loosely attached to the door. Twisting, then pulling it open he stepped gingerly inside. He winced as the dust-covered ebony wood creaked underfoot.

He shut the door slowly at first, then quickly as the wind tearedng it out of his grip and smashing harshly against the fragile doorway pushing a gust of wind. Maxwell coughed loudly as dust became airborne surrounding him.

"Well, guess there's no need to shout," he muttered partly thinking aloud, party in a desperate attempt to cut through the eerie silence that seemed to echo off the walls.

"Leave!" An angry, presumably female voice blew. Maxwell lets out a surprised yelp at the sudden voice of his unknown companion, whipping his head around quickly.

"The ground on which you stand is not yours, trespasser beware!" It spoke again, closer this time.

Now, there are certain characteristics of a ghost that allow the: hunter, hero, heroine, etc, to come to terms with the fact that what they are facing is in fact a supernatural being. From his previous readings on the subject Maxwell was able to bring together a mental list of all these attributes. This voice present in this house seemed to comply with all of them. When it spoke, it spoke in winds that blew in and out of your mind leaving it feeling cold and confused. The voice also seemed to bounce around even as it was speaking -although stuck mostly to the walls- so the exact source could not be placed to a specific location. Above all, it was the sheer fact that he was standing in a broken-down abandoned house made of dark wood in the middle of quite possibly the worst thunderstorm to ever reach Darnich Way that caused Maxwell to come to the final, definite conclusion that what he was facing at present moment was, in fact, a ghost.

Maxwell turned and fumbled with the doorknob, although, true to Maxwell's unfortunate luck, it did not open as smoothly as it had just moments ago.

His hands were shaking more now, almost thrashing from his wrists, not only due to the fact it was just below two degrees, but now of the fright and uncertainty that the house beheld. He wrapped them around the stiff metal knob using all of his weight to first twist clockwise, then antic-clockwise, then push outwards and then pull inwards.

For a little over a microsecond  it felt as though it would open the door, that he would be free. Then, a single screw fell onto the floor and the entire contraption fell onto the floor with a terrible clang.

Whether it was the matter of a sudden burst of bravery, the wish to no longer delay the inevitable, the lust for adventure or simply a small declaration of insanity on Maxwell's part; he turned back around.

He sighed again. He was sighing a lot lately. He was becoming an adult her decided. All adults do is sigh and talk about the weather. Or it may just be because of his current predicament that was very quickly turning from a hallmark horror film to a thrilling fantasy story. A story in which he would be the hero he decided firmly.

With his new found courage he took one step forward. "Um, ghost?" His voice cracked as he mumbled "I'm stuck here so it would be greatly appreciated if I would refrain from murdering me." He spoke slow and flat as though he was simply reading a script with no apparent acting talent.

An airy laugh sounded from what appeared to be around the corner. "Oh please Maxwell, I just cleaned blood from these carpets; killing you would just make them dirty again."