Prologue

He knelt down and brushed his finger across the wood noticing wetness on the floor. Looking up he saw the source. A wet spot had formed on the ceiling where rain water had gathered and deteriorated the dry wall. The water dripped slowly but persistently, a rhythmic tap echoing through the abandoned hallway.

Ryland was fascinated as he stretched out and popped his back. The smooth green windbreaker rustled loudly in the void. Throwing a hand into his pocket he continued to explore the ancient structure, running his right hand along the carved walls craning his neck to get a glimpse at the writing on the ceiling.

The further he walked past old useless furniture and menacing dark shadows the more uneasy he became. There was stillness about him. Deeper and quieter then ever before, the atmosphere seemed foreboding and Ryland could sense it. Somewhere off in the distance evil lurked waiting for its prey.

A sound echoed around the interior. It had come from one of the dark rooms adjacent to the hallway. A note of skepticism pulsed through Ryland’s mind for a second or two. Just a sound, he laughed nervously to himself, nothing to worry about. He continued more slowly this time forgetting about the fascinating old furniture. His resolve was beginning to wane.

All he had to do was walk through the hallway and out the back door. Easy enough, if it weren’t for the creaking floor boards, random noises, and oddly shaped shadows. Another echo emitted out of the darkness. “Shoot!” Ryland jumped. His heart was racing and he fought to keep control over his imagination.

What had he been thinking? He stepped over a warped floorboard. The senior jocks had dared him to walk into the old structure. “Lot’s of the guys from school do it,” they had said. But their shifting eyes and non-convincing tone spoke otherwise. He was sure they themselves had never stepped foot on the property. He remembered trying to stop his hands from shaking as he had brushed some nervous sweat from his brow. After gaining control of the involuntary movement in his hands and legs, he had nodded at the older boys with fake confidence. Very fake. Ryland smiled grimly to himself. He had been a wreck. And now, ten minutes later, here he was jumping nervously at every little abnormality.

He stood up a little taller as he thought of the scornful smiles on the Jocks’ faces. They probably thought he’d pee his pants. He winced. That wasn’t far from the truth. There had been no accidents yet, but the night wasn’t over. Reserves of anger from years of ridicule and being looked down upon suddenly unleashed. What did those boys know about him? That he was easy to throw into a trash can. That he couldn’t fight back when they stole his money or held him against his locker. They couldn’t possibly make judgments about him and say he was stupid, weird, and terrified of everything. They didn’t know Ryland H Edward II. He’d show them. He would make his dead mother and distant father proud.

“Come out,” He said a little above a whisper. “Show yourself and face me like a man.” His voice was becoming louder and more confident. As he passed one of the dark rooms there was a subtle blur of motion. The movement was so subtle, Ryland hardly noticed it through the security he had found in his anger. “I’ll give you to the count of three,” he dared, taunting the darkness. “One, two, thr…” before he could finish the count, a voice laughed hysterically from another of the rooms followed by the “tip” “tap” of shoes on hard wood. Ryland nearly jumped out of skin, but dared not turn around. Instead, he sucked up against one of the walls and slid to a crouching position hugging his knees to his chest. “Oh, please no, Oh, please no” his said over and over again. A cold chill ran through his body and he thought he heard someone whisper something close by.

Maybe if he closed his eyes, the laughing creature wouldn’t notice him he thought. The five-year-old mentality, though useless, was somewhat comforting.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ryland opened his eyes. As he stared down at the old weathered floorboards afraid to look up, the foot steps came closer. Louder and louder, they approached him until…silence. The same unbearable, deep silence hung over the abandoned house like stillness before the storm. Something waited, Ryland knew. It was poised ready to pounce any second on the young boy.

Not quite paralyzed by fear, he lifted his head focusing on one of the empty door ways. The footsteps had been coming from that general direction. His eyes began to refocus in the dark. For a few breathless seconds he could only make out dark blotches and a few shapes. Then as the shapes became distinguishable objects, he noticed it. Something protruded slightly from the door way. He was sure it hadn’t been there before. At first it looked like a box lying on the floor. But as his eyes gathered in more light particles he recognized, in horror, what he was looking at.

There was whisper, a chuckle, and then another foot step as a large black boot penetrated the empty space of the door way landing only six feet from Ryland’s cowering body. “Welcome, Ryland” the voice was hoarse and menacing. “I’ve been expecting you.”