(This is an older piece by me.. do not reproduce it. a second part and an updated version of this one are in the works)
You walk into the home, so cold, so wet from the storm outside. The wind has your hair blown all about your face, and the cold rain has it sticking to your skin. The rain pelts on the door now, the wind outside changing direction. You look about the room, and sigh. "Can it be any darker in here?" The shadows, which surround you, shift as the trees by the windows move outside with the swirling wind.
You walk around the hallway to the home. It is dark; the single lamp in the foyer is broken. You enter what seems like it would be a nicely decorated kitchen, wood burning stove, large refrigerator, wine rack... beautiful.
You're so positive that you saw lights on in this house. You look around, the only light by your lighter, which is now growing hotter, too hot to touch. You let go of the little red piece of plastic, the small flame dies out, and you're left to readjust to the darkness.
You turn around, your eyes slowly coming back into focus and notice a light of some kind coming from upstairs. It's not bright, just enough to see the difference... a flickering on the wall. You see the flickering disappear. You move along to the stairs, and then, moving up them, you feel the chill in the air. Once concealed by your own cold clothes, the air inside the home now reaches your skin. A shiver moves up your spine. How long has this house been without power? Why did I choose this house? When moving to the top of the stairs, you turn and see a window.
Outside is your car... dead. As if Mother Nature tried to tell you something, a bolt of lightning flashed, and you could see the smashed windshield. Jesus, what the hell was I doing driving?
The memory of the party flashes back to you, all the hugs, and the sweet kisses of long known friends. The friends hitting on you. The supposed gentlemen touching your ass. Telling them you were okay to drive, just so you could get out of there. You proved yourself wrong when you hit the mailbox. It wasn't the dumbest thing you could have done. Driving was the stupidest. Getting lost was the second most... THEN hitting the mailbox. You remember the thoughts going through your head as the battery light came on. The things going through your mind when you came to slow halt at the driveway of the large home in front of you.
When the rain came pouring down over you as you stepped out of your car.
Confusion as to why you entered a development. As to why you walked up to the darkest house. Was it because you wanted a dark place? Wanted someplace where you would not be denied? No matter what, you got yourself here, and you were alive. Cold, but alive.
A shiver ran up your spine again. You move down the hallway, and approach a doorway. When you get near to it, you hear a sound further down the hall, and the light, small though it may be, was there as well. You pass the door quickly, and move to the farthest room. There is a lot of light once inside the room, and warmth as well. You rush to the room, and into the warmth of burning oak, and smells of nature providing heat.
"Hello? Hello? Is anyone here?"
When my hand comes down on your shoulder from behind you, you jump, startled. You turn quickly. "You should have looked in the room you first passed." You look into my eyes first, then to my pale skin, then to my black silk shirt. My hair is pulled back on my head, slicked. I look deep into your eyes, and I smile at you. "I am sorry M'Lady, I did not mean to scare thee." You look at me; my shirt tucked into my black jeans. The black belt I wear, and the sword I wear at my side. A sword? This maniac is wearing a sword?
"What? What did you say?" You try to take your mind away from my attire.
"I said I'm sorry miss, I didn't mean to scare you." You shake your head slowly; thinking you thought you heard something else. You look at me again. My hair does not seem so fine anymore. My shirt's different. Maybe it is the changing of the fire. One log is burning less than before, only simmering now. You turn around again; I am not there. I move to the side window, opening it a little. "What... are you nuts? It's freezing out there."
"Actually, freezing would be 32 degrees or lower... it's 39 degrees out, so technically, it is not freezing." With that, you see a cocky smile appear on my face. I lean forward to the fireplace, and shift the logs, igniting one more. You look down and see the nozzle for the gas.
I look at you and follow your gaze. "I hate gas. I like to cut my own wood. I like to burn my wood. Oooo, burning gas. That's romantic. That's just Sooooo traditional." You laugh at the cynicism of my words. I walk away and grab a bottle of champagne. I take two glasses in the other hand. I walk to you, and pour the champagne. Two glasses, you think to yourself.
Was he expecting someone?