The night is alive with fear; the girl jumps as she hears the cry of a far away coyote.  Her knees begin to tremble, slowly, while making her way up to the old Winmore Manor.  As she makes her way up the driveway, she can see the lights winking at her through the windows.  A cold, harsh wind howls by her face, blowing the free strands of her hair around her.  The house seems to exhale the wind itself as the shutters suddenly blow outward.  The old, creaking shutters slowly pull themselves inward again.  The girl stops in her tracks, the old house is glaring at her through the transparent curtains.  The vines that, in daylight, seem to give the old house elegance are now hanging down from the roof and are slowly snaking their way towards her as she stands as still as a statue.  Even though it seems so uninviting, something about that house is pulling her towards it.  She begins to move again as lightening strikes in the distance.  Almost like it is warning her of the impending dangers to come, the rain begins to fall.  It angles towards her, trying to push her back, but she keeping on pushing ahead.  She needs to make it to a phone; she has to get help for the others in the small car that is lying on its roof in the ditched embankment below.  The thunder rolls from the distant lightening, but the sound seems to strangle her.  She is unable to breath; the vibrations from the rolling thunder have taken her breath, her voice.  Making the last few feet to the door takes forever.  She bangs on the door, and falls to her knees.  The door slowly opens with an eerie creaking that sounds like cold laughter.  All she can breathe out is, “Help.”

Jennifer Duprel