This was my vague attempt at writing a novel (lol) and I really can't figure out where to make the plot go. If anyone has
any ideas on how to make this plot move along, lemme know. Thanks!
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Prologue
Out, off the street came a dirty, skinny dog. The mutt walked down the old cobblestone street with a turkey bone in his mouth, gnawing on it savagely. The soft sound of his pads hitting the ground echoed off the trees lining the desolate avenue. The moonlight threw harsh shadows onto the surrounding pavement, and litter and garbage covered the pavement with a strange, fine dust.
A crash of violet lightning nearby made the poor beast yelp and start running in circles. It wasn’t a hard decision. The dog made for the old abandoned mansion down from him. Because dog’s cant talk. He never heard the old stories of terror, horror, mystery, and murder that plagued the old house’ reputation. He never knew better than to waltz right into reputedly impending doom. So, he bounded in happily as soon as he came upon the ajar door. A fateful mistake in the life of this poor mutt. The life that would be extinguished so soon………
Chapter One
Wyce Muldoon wanted to kill himself. Well, not really, but it described his bleak attitude that day. Who gave a crap about school. He didn’t need to finish high school. For all he cared, he could flunk this senior year. He’d just become an apprentice or civil servant anyway. And who cared about any of that anyway. He didn’t. He was seventeen for cripes sake, when would he be allowed to make his own decision like an adult?
“Wyce. Honey?”
His mother walked into the room.
“Listen, I know you don’t want us to move, but we might not, ok? We’re just going to look at this house, you know, its not final or anything. Honey?”
She walked out of the room. It was funny how babyish his mother made everything sound; like he was a little boy with a tantrum. He had good reasons for not wanting to move. For one, it would be another stupid school with more stupid teachers who would treat him like crap and then expect his respect back. Same stuff, different day. And plus, he didn’t want to leave New York; leave this tough city; leave the Bronx; and go to some little flamboyant town with a bunch of pansy’s for neighbors.
He was a tough kid by nature, weighing in at 210 and being 6’ 6’’. Years of football had toughened him, and he was physically built up. He has gotten his butt handed to him in a few fights, though. His mother had gotten many notes about her sons “love for aggression and violence.” Yeah, well, that was coming from teachers for might be the weakest beings on the face of the planet.
He rifled through some old papers and found his sophomore report card. A long row of D’s and F’s nicely bordered the social growth column, which was full of check marks and X’s.
What more, he knew his mom was feeding him a line of crap. They were moving, he knew it, and it was some crazy joint ownership deal. He didn’t want to think about sharing a house with other people; how big could it be?
Wyce walked out of his room and into the hallway of their two cent apartment. His mother was getting her coat on.
“Well, it’s going to be a two hour drive. This place is in New Jersey.”
He grabbed a CD player and walked with his mother down and out into the frigid November air.
The car ride was long and boring. Wyce blasted his headphones so he didn’t have to listen to his mom talk to him about maturing, or his attitude, about him being a follower, or anything, because he didn’t want to hear it. He was tired of hearing it. That was all he ever heard, over and over. It was the same routine; he could almost mouth the words along with his mother.
Wyce slouched back in his seat.
Chapter two
Wyce and his mother pulled up from the old street. They were met with a wrought iron fence.
“ Aren’t we here yet?” mumbled Wyce. His mother, ecstatic to hear any signs of life emanating from his mouth, quickly replied , “This is the main gate, honey.”
“Oh,” said Wyce, sitting back down again. But, they turned a corner and he quickly jumped up.
He immediately realized he was wrong about thinking this house couldn’t be big enough. It was humorously big, looking more like a castle than a house. It was bigger than even the biggest mansions in the posh side of the Bronx. A cracked stone façade covered the building, while ivy snaked up like tentacles. It had towers spiraling up, with jagged stone like teeth topping it off. A large, bronze sign hung over the main doors, titled “First Avenue”, even though no street in that town bore that name. The doors themselves were crafted with elegant, hand carved designs, depicting small images and scenes. A huge brass bell with a rope descending from it hung down above the doors, as well as a large brass doorknocker bearing a family crest rested dead center on the doors. The whole of the house was bordered by a dense, vast clump of shrubbery, and a lush garden could be seen in the distance. Near the main path, a clump of small apple trees was visible.
“H-how much did you say this costs?” stammered Wyce.
“One hundred-forty thousand per family,” said his mother, apparently in awe as well.
“And how many other families are we sharing this house with?” asked Wyce.
“Three,” answered his mom.
Wyce realized there were enough side wings and towers to accommodate much more than three people. Why so few takers, plus, that price seemed very low, considering some of the bungalows in the ghetto could be appraised for that much. He got out of the car, and stood on the gravel walkway. One of the front doors was ajar, being held up by a brick. Wyce and his mother walked into the doors, and his mother softly called, “Hello?”
The entrance hall did not disappoint. A huge, grand staircase started in the middle and swept elegantly up to the higher levels, while stout, wooden doorways lined the walls of the room. A huge crystal chandelier sparkled like a diamond from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows, which stuck out at sharp angles. The walls were finished with a textured paint design, and torches stuck out at periodic intervals down the halls. This room was so huge, Wyce thought, it could’ve fitted four apartments the size of his and still had gargantuan amounts of space. He closed his mouth, which had hung open.
“Hello,” said a cheery voice. They both jumped. A women in a skirt and suit top walked up, her high heels clicking.
“I’m Annete, the realtor. Come on inside the waiting chamber. The rest of the guests are already inside. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Oh,” said Wyce’s mother. “I hope we’re not too late.”
“Oh not at all,” said Annete. “Come on inside.”
They walked through one of the wooden doors off the side of the hall. Inside was an older couple, maybe in their late fifty’s, a husband and wife with a young boy and a teenage daughter, and a guy in his twenties.
“Everyone, this is Mrs. Judy Muldoon.”
“Ms. Judy Muldoon,” Wyce’s mom corrected her.
“And this is her son, Wyce. He’s seventeen, I believe,” Wyce nodded, “Wyce, Judy, this is Jacob and Marianne Goodman,” she said, gesturing to the older couple, “Robert and Teresa McNeil, and their children, Mark and Lacy.,” she said, pointing to the family with the two children, “Mark is seven and Lacy is seventeen, also. And this is Anthony Gagliano,” she finished, pointing to the young, surly Italian man. “I’m Annete Jacobsen, and this is my first time in this neighborhood. I usually sell real estate farther north, but I’ll be happy to tell you a little bit about this house.”
“This mansion was erected in 1839 for Jack and Marcia O’Laughlin. They built it after coming over to America from Ireland. Apparently, Jack was in the oil business and had considerable wealth and power. They were newlywed, and wanted to start out on the right foot. But, tragically, she died while giving childbirth seven years later. Heartbroken, Jack left the house to go back to Ireland, to be with his family again. I guess the house has been interchanged from owner to owner over the years, although it has been dormant for a considerable amount of time, or so I’m told.”
“Why is it so cheap,” blurted Wyce. Everyone turned and stared at him.
“As to that, I don’t know. I told you, I’m not familiar with this area.” she said, smiling. “Now, let me just get something from my car, and I’ll give you all a final tour. As you know, you will each have separate living quarters, but will share a kitchen. I think I have some pamphlets…. ‘ she said, walking outside. Everyone sat in silence.
“Look daddy, I’m strong!!!” yelled Mark McNeil. He picked up the brick holding the door open and threw it outside. The door snapped shut with such force that the sound echoed maliciously throughout the main hall. The hollow tones reverberated, sending a chill up Wyce’s back. He felt a strong sense of foreboding. Something wasn’t right.
He got up slowly and walked over to the door. The huge, iron deadbolt had swung shut, and was clamped into place. Wyce tried to pull it up, but it wasn’t moving for some reason. He tugged harder. He tugged as hard as he could, using all the strength he could muster. He searched with his eyes, trying to find an explanation for the bolt sticking, and just then, something disturbing happened.
A caking of rust began to trickle over the surface like water. Wyce wasn’t the best of students, but he knew rust took years and years to form, not seconds. He jumped back. Now, the entire bolt and parts of the door were completely rusted over. Wyce pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t really asleep; this was so eerie.
“Uh, this door, uh, wont open,” he called back to the congregation.
“Why not?” called someone.
“It, uh, rusted over. Just now. In three seconds.”
“What?”
There were scuffing sounds as everyone scrambled over to the doorway.
“Wow. Are you sure it happened, uh, just now?” asked Robert McNeil.
“Honey, are you feeling okay?” asked his mom. She pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” said Wyce testily. “I just saw it rust over, just now!” Everyone surveyed him with looks of extreme skepticism.
“Well, there has to be another way out,” said Anthony Gagliano. “You know, like a back door, or something.”
There was a murmur of general assent. Everyone still shot disbelieving glances at Wyce, as if he were wearing a sign that said “Danger: Insane.” This hardly bothered Wyce at all. He couldn’t care less about what these people thought about him. The group walked out into the main area again, and started for the doors, trying each one.
“I wonder where Annete is,” said Wyce’s mom thoughtfully.
“I dunno,” said Wyce.
“Hey, why don’t call to Annete through one of the front windows.” said Robert. Jacob Goodman walked over and opened the window.
“Hey, what time is it?” he called out.
“Four o’clock.” said Wyce, checking his watch.
“And, er, was there a storm forecasted for today?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Jacob blinked.
“Well, it sure is dark outside.”
Once again, everyone scrambled over to the window. Jacob was right. It was pitch black out, darker than anything Wyce had ever seen. There was no sound. The inky blackness was so thick it looked like you could slice it with a knife.
“Hello!” yelled Robert. There was no reply. His voice echoed eerily through the darkness.
“Well, let’s try another window then?” suggested Anthony. Everyone turned to walk away. Wyce stayed there, looking out, deep in thought. He picked up a small rock from the windowsill and threw it out into the night. Nothing happened. Wyce never heard it hit the ground. The immense darkness was scaring him now; he turned to walk away.
Just then, the rock whizzed back through the window and hit him in the back of the head.
Chapter Three
“Maybe a storm blew up real fast?”
“Yeah, maybe,”
“Well, what should we do?”
“I dunno.”
“We could head to the back of the house, look for another door.”
“That’s what I said a while ago.”
“Well, how are the other windows?”
“There all black!!!”
Wyce sat in silence on a chair. Everyone was getting irritated now. Every window proved to be opened up to the inky darkness, of which proved quite a mystery. Annete still had not come back, and people were getting angry. Wyce had a feeling that this deal might fall through for ’ol Annete. But it serves her right. This was a hassle, and no one knew anything about this house, or it’s layout, or where the other doors were.
“Come on, lets go up these stairs,” called Anthony. “We’ll just go back to the other side of the mansion.” This seemed like it would prove very difficult, because the mansion seemed very deep from the outside. Plus, being this big, there was bound to be a very confusing layout.
They began there ascent of the tall, majestic staircase. The banister was carved with a flowing script in a language that Wyce did not recognize. It seemed to take longer than expected to reach the top. Wyce looked down the stairs. There didn’t appear to have been this many steps when they were all down below. It looked as if more stairs had been added… Wyce turned away and went up to where everyone else was congregated, at the top of the staircase.
They were facing a long, narrow hallway. Many, many closed, wooden doors bordered the hall, and a sick-green carpet adorned the floor. There were two torches, illuminating the area, and a third was extinguished. The hallway spanned from east to west, it’s midsection crossing right in front of the stairway. Strange shapes danced in the flickering torchlight.
“I think we should split up?” suggested Mrs. McNeil.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Wyce.
“Nonsense, what have we to fear; it’s only a house,” said Anthony. This would later prove to be the biggest understatement of all.
“I think we should jut do whatever we can so we can get out of here. Those windows gave me the creeps,” said Lacy McNeil with a shudder.
“Here here,” said Wyce’s mother.
“Well, Wyce, Mrs. Muldoon, and the McNeil’s go left, and me and the Goodman’s will go right?” suggested Anthony. Wyce still felt that splitting up wasn’t a good idea.
“Alright then. Let’s go,” said Mr. Goodman. The two groups split up, and Wyce looked back as the other party went down the hallway.
“Well,” said Mr. McNeil, “let’s try some doors.” They walked to the middle of the hall and spread out, trying to open doors. Some were locked, but many were open. Lacey screamed when a mop tumbled out of a broom closet and hit her in the head.
Wyce opened up a door that led to a small room, completely bare, except for a light bulb on…the floor.
“That’s strange,” said Wyce. No one else seemed to care. He looked around the room once more, then closed the door with a click.
They continued on down to the end of the hall.
“Well, let’s forget the doors and just head as straight back as we can. There might be a door in the back of the house.”
At the hall’s very end, there was a staircase leading to a small foyer. They all began the descent of the stairs.
Whatever happened was over so fast it was hard to tell what happened. Lacy, bringing up the rear, slipped clumsily over one of the stairs. She tripped and fell, but not down…she fell up the stairs! She fell backwards, up, and landed on the stair above her. For a second nobody moved. Then, they rushed over to see if she was alright.
“What happened?”
“Did you see that?”
“Are you okay?” asked Mr. McNeil.
“Uh... Yeah... I’m fine.” she answered. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.
“How did you do that?” asked her mother.
“Do what?”
“Fall up the stairs.” said Wyce.
“I did?” Lacy said confusedly. She surveyed the area around her, and quite suddenly, her eyes became very wide.
“You must’ve just fallen funny, you know, and it looked like you fell up,” suggested Wyce’s mother.
“Yeah... yeah you’re probably right,” she said, although she did not look like she believed it.
They walked up another flight of stairs, and were in another hallway, identical to the last one they were in. Wyce had a strange feeling of déjà vu.
“Well, another hallway. I guess we’re just gonna have to check each door again.” They continued opening and closing doors. So far, this proved uneventful. Then, Wyce opened a door.
It was the same room as before. Completely bare, with only one light bulb on the floor. Wyce walked over to the light bulb. Just as he got close enough to examine the bulb, it cracked.
Out of the fissure came a torrent of dark liquid, staining the floor, spreading to all four corners of the room. Even though it was cracked, the light bulb suddenly shone on brilliantly, revealing the liquid to be…blood.
Wyce gasped. He stumbled backwards and turned around, a feeling of black terror growing inside him. Something wasn’t right. Something was far from right.
“We need to go!” he yelled. The blood was pouring from the door now.
Lacy was the first to turn around. She screamed loudly, and her mother followed suit. Mr. McNeil grabbed Mark around the waist, took Lacy’s wrist, and pushed his wife forward.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” he called. Wyce and his mother began to run as well. Suddenly, all the doors in the hallway flew open, blood leaking from each. They slammed shut and the wave rippled up to where they were running. The turned the corner into the foyer, but the stairs were all gone, the entire room empty, the bare walls standing there, as if mocking them. Sheer terror now plagued Wyce’s heart. Why the hell weren’t the stairs here. Frantic, they wheeled around and ran back into the hall. The blood was gone, the floor, untouched and unstained, and all the doors were closed. They ran down to the other end.
All the doors on one side opened and closed so quickly and loudly that Mrs. McNeil fell backwards in shock against the closed door. It opened, and she fell into the bare room with the light bulb. For a fleeting instant the flickering torch light illuminated the shocked expression on her face, making her features jump around as if in a strobe light. Then the door slammed shut.
“Theresa!” bellowed Mr. McNeil. He whipped open the door, but Mrs. McNeil was nowhere to be found. The four windowless walls stood bare, around the small light bulb, which was still lit.
The light flickered and died.
Chapter Four
Lacy and Mark screamed.
“Momma!” cried Mark. “Where’s momma?”
“Mom,” yelled Lacy, as she ran up and down the halls. “Mom, please be here…”
Mr. McNeil sat up against the wall, a glazed look over his eyes.
“She was just there,” he said quietly to Wyce. “Right there. It only took a second to open the door. There’s no other way out the room.”
He looked at Wyce for support.
“Wyce, where the hell did she go!” he yelled, his voice high pitched. He shook Wyce by the shoulders. Wyce was startled.
“She…she’s….and the blood on the floor…and the stairs weren’t...the doors…by themselves….” he rambled, clearly at a loss to explain what had just occurred.
Wyce walked over to console Lacy and Mark.
“Are you guys okay?”
“No!” said Lacy. “What just happened! That wasn’t right…..how can you even explain it?” she finished.
“I can’t,” said Wyce.
He shot a sidelong glance at Mark. His bottom lip was trembling, and he was sitting in a ball in the corner. Wyce extended a hand, but then thought better of it, and walked away. His mother, ever the skeptic, was examining the walls and floor of the light bulb room.
“Well honey, I don’t know, I mean, where could she have gone?” inquired Mrs. Muldoon.
well thats all (lol) so lemme know alrighty?
