These Rusted Gates
Prologue
Midnight stars swirled around in the deep, gray sky; the sound of the busy street morphed into humming choirs of angels, ah the effects of a cold winter night crawling into the skin and slowly killing her.
The occasional gush of wind made it a harsh night. Even in the comforts of his home, Carl Glade felt the cold ripping through his skin. He sank further in the maroon Victorian style chair that matched the study perfectly. The elegant theme of the study went on to the living room and all the rooms of this big house. He stared once again through the frosty window. “I have to find her.”
The giant, rusty hands still managed to move slowly, they struck the number twelve at the same time. It was exactly midnight according to the town clock as it let out a loud and low tone. Dong, dong, dong. It reverberated through the town striking every eardrum in the area sort of saying, “It’s time to go home.” And so the people did and at exactly midnight, the white streets of Stafford went dead.
The same dead silence engulfed the Denver house but with a good ear, you could hear clearly the sound of a sobbing girl. Once it was noticed, it echoed throughout the bungalow house and making it impossible to trace where the cry is coming from. It almost felt paranormal, like it was from a lost ghost waiting to cross over.
“Midnight, I’m going to die at midnight.” She whispered to herself in between short and shallow breaths. With only an ounce of energy, her eyelids began to drop but she didn’t dare close her eyes for the fear of not waking up. Natural hallucinogens took over her body once more as she saw a man walk towards her.
The occasional gush of wind made it a harsh night. Even in the comforts of his home, Carl Glade felt the cold ripping through his skin. He sank further in the maroon Victorian style chair that matched the study perfectly. The elegant theme of the study went on to the living room and all the rooms of this big house. He stared once again through the frosty window. “I have to find her.”
The giant, rusty hands still managed to move slowly, they struck the number twelve at the same time. It was exactly midnight according to the town clock as it let out a loud and low tone. Dong, dong, dong. It reverberated through the town striking every eardrum in the area sort of saying, “It’s time to go home.” And so the people did and at exactly midnight, the white streets of Stafford went dead.
The same dead silence engulfed the Denver house but with a good ear, you could hear clearly the sound of a sobbing girl. Once it was noticed, it echoed throughout the bungalow house and making it impossible to trace where the cry is coming from. It almost felt paranormal, like it was from a lost ghost waiting to cross over.
“Midnight, I’m going to die at midnight.” She whispered to herself in between short and shallow breaths. With only an ounce of energy, her eyelids began to drop but she didn’t dare close her eyes for the fear of not waking up. Natural hallucinogens took over her body once more as she saw a man walk towards her.