The Picture House
by Janet McDermott-Brown

 

Introduction

 
Darkness squeezed into the crypt, as the rain lashed the outside of the ancient building. Gritt shuffled in behind his master and closed the heavy oak door. Immediately the howling wind ceased to be a distraction, and sounded muted and distant from this desolate place.

In the centre of the darkness was the apparition of a young boy. He lay on top of a crumbling tomb. His life essence giving him, a dim glow, akin to candlelight. A shadow, darker than the night, stood motionless, staring at the boy, conscious of the challenge that lay ahead.

His long black fingernails traced the outline of the boy’s face. His smoky tendrils curled around the tomb.

“It won’t be long until your mind is mine,” Sinister whispered sourly.

Gritt appeared nervously by his master’s side. He had lit some candles around the crypt and kept his vigil by the boy’s side. His only fear was that the boy would awaken. He must not.

“You have not done well, Gritt.” Sinister’s red fiery eyes glowed with a new depth of simmering anger.

Gritt shuddered.

“There are pieces of the boy’s mind scattered everywhere. And his friends are getting close.”

“I am sorry master, it is difficult to keep him asleep. Every time he tries to wake up a piece of his memory is lost.” Gritt held his head down in submission.

“This must not happen again. His mind needs to be intact for me to steal it.”

“Yes master,” mumbled Gritt, shifting from one foot to another, “and master, it also needs to be intact for the boy to recover.”

“That is the very moment,” Sinister raised his arms in anticipation of his own words, “when I will strike!”

The rain began to fall harder, as if in tune with Sinister’s fury. The heavy oak door flew open, inviting the challenge to begin...

 
Find 'The Picture House' on Amazon Kindle:
http://tinyurl.com/ka39rbo