Redfren
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Inner Sanctum Nobility
A twinkling of light shimmered off the ground near the edge of the building. Lance was new to this route but was warned about the oddities that happened around this house. He pulled over and slowly exited his car calling over his radio, "Dispatch I'm at the 10-14 now" his tone was crisp and direct. While waiting for a reply he closed his door and stepped around the police cruiser pausing when a voice chimed back over the radio "Rodger 10-23," then silence returned.
Lance looked around for the source of the light that had caught his eyes. He gently pulled out a large Stinger tactical flashlight and flicked it on flooding the area with light. He heard glass crack and fall from behind The Miller house. Quickly he walked along the side of the building and lifting the light upward saw a broken window on the top floor, a jagged black hole in the shiny pane.
The Miller house was built on a hillside that stood two stories tall in the rear. The basement was exposed, an imposing stone foundation supporting a timbered framing and stucco finish. As his light continued to pan across the building there were several panes in the leaded-glass windows that were broken. Lowering his light to check the grounds there was a thick oak door that stood ajar, confirming the call that someone was prowling in the area.
He could smell a faint scent of mold and decay in the area as condensation and moist molds covered the stone walls of the basement. Wary, Lance crept up the plank stairs to the first floor. He called out in a loud voice "Police!" waiting for only a moment, he quickly flipped his flashlight around and smacked the wall several times causing a booming echo to cascade off the walls. "Police!" he repeated.
It was a creepy old house, and the tendency of small towns was to gossip or embellish the truth. Most say it was haunted but that was just superstition right? Lance was a skeptic regarding all things supernatural and most religious talk as well, so he never paid much mind to it. Still, the last officer to come by ran into a knife wielding drug addict ranting about ghost and strange voices then stabbed him. Lance was not taking any chances and moved his flashlight to his left hand then unstrapped his holster with his right. He had not pulled his firearm yet but wanted to make sure he could if needed so he left his hand resting on the butt of his weapon.
As he walked into the abandoned building, the inside of the house looked much like the exterior, framed in heavy timbers and beams, plaster walls. It was a nice house aside from some dust and cobwebs the house had not suffered much in the last five years. Just over the fireplace, an old painting set bolted to the wall. It was of an older woman dressed in vintage clothing, her face was narrow and pale almost homely. Framed by grey hair her lips were drawn in a tight grimace. It looked like she was dressed in a black gown though that could be wrong given the damage, with a white pleated collar. The whole painting was cracked and chipped like a broken eggshell covered in dust.
"Tomahawk Police" He called out again, then crossed the foyer and started up the stairs. The clomp of his boots on the wooden floor echoed from the ceiling above. His flashlight flickered a few times as he continued steadily up the stairs. With a low grunt, he shook it firmly. He could hear the faint thump of music like a pulsing base steady and deep. Must be a radio of some kind which confirmed someone was in the building.
He grabbed his shoulder radio to speak and pressed the button down. Just as his lips opened to speak a loud crackling static sound blared through the small speaker. He immediately released the button pausing in confusion. A small touch of anxiety started to disquiet itself inside him as he pressed the button again. The results were the same, the moment the button was pressed a blaring static like sound flared out of the speaker. "Shit" he muttered to himself in a low tone. Taking a few more steps up the stairs.
Goosebumps rippled up his arms and neck, the tickle of cold fingers playing over his skin was nerve racking. Steeling his emotions and trying to relax, he again called out louder this time "Tomahawk Police" Again there was no response. He proceeded up the remaining stairs, stepping into the long hallway and glancing at each door that was open. He saw nothing, but the sound seemed to amplify as he walked further down the hallway.
The creaks and scrapes of his boots on the wooden floor were hollow and resonating with the deep thump he was hearing. Suddenly his flashlight flickered again then died off completely blanketing the area in darkness. Lance wrapped his hand tightly around the grip of his weapon and paused in a ready stance. His pulse quickened and his neck ran cold with sweat.
His insides were tightening in a knot as he vigorously shook the flashlight. The anxiety he felt earlier grew even stronger and more intense he was going to have a full-blown panic attack. He felt an overwhelming sensation to leave, to run away. It was a foolish thought he was a police officer and had a job to do. The job can be scary it is just something we have to deal with he quietly repeated to himself in his mind.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he glanced around the area it felt like the shadows themselves were moving around him. Eyes, teeth, claws and other cold things waiting to pounce behind every door. As he took another step, he heard a door bang shut behind him. He froze feeling his heart jump right into his throat and looked over his shoulder at the door closest to the stairs.
The floorboards began to rumble the same sound he had heard further down the hall only much louder now, more pressing. The house shook violently and trembled as if the ground beneath the foundation were suddenly attacked by an earthquake. Lance drew his weapon feeling dizzy and a little nauseous. His stomach started doing summersaults and he bent over thinking he was going to throw up.
Another door slammed shut jolting him from whatever trance he was in. Sweat built around the edges of his hairline and he decided right there and then he had to get the hell out of this house. Suddenly the floorboards started clattering like a mad drum. Lance turned and ran down the hallway toward the staircase.
The first door that had slammed shut burst open with such force it banged against the wall with a loud crack that could be heard even over the rumbling floorboards. He raced down the stairs taking two or three at a time. His eyes flicked to the painting which seemed to be smiling, old rotten teeth jagged and broken peeked out from underneath its thinning lips the eyes watching with intensity as Lance continued rushing toward the door.
He reached for the door handle and threw it open nearly jumping from the house itself. His flashlight which he had somehow managed to keep hold of flicked back on. The clattering sounds from inside went dead silent and his radio clicked with life as a familiar voice rang out through its speaker "We need a 10-66 on officer Nicks, last location …" She spouted off the address where Lance was standing.
He took a deep breath reaching for his radio to report what happened but hesitated to look back at the entrance to the building. How the hell was he going to explain this?
Lance looked around for the source of the light that had caught his eyes. He gently pulled out a large Stinger tactical flashlight and flicked it on flooding the area with light. He heard glass crack and fall from behind The Miller house. Quickly he walked along the side of the building and lifting the light upward saw a broken window on the top floor, a jagged black hole in the shiny pane.
The Miller house was built on a hillside that stood two stories tall in the rear. The basement was exposed, an imposing stone foundation supporting a timbered framing and stucco finish. As his light continued to pan across the building there were several panes in the leaded-glass windows that were broken. Lowering his light to check the grounds there was a thick oak door that stood ajar, confirming the call that someone was prowling in the area.
He could smell a faint scent of mold and decay in the area as condensation and moist molds covered the stone walls of the basement. Wary, Lance crept up the plank stairs to the first floor. He called out in a loud voice "Police!" waiting for only a moment, he quickly flipped his flashlight around and smacked the wall several times causing a booming echo to cascade off the walls. "Police!" he repeated.
It was a creepy old house, and the tendency of small towns was to gossip or embellish the truth. Most say it was haunted but that was just superstition right? Lance was a skeptic regarding all things supernatural and most religious talk as well, so he never paid much mind to it. Still, the last officer to come by ran into a knife wielding drug addict ranting about ghost and strange voices then stabbed him. Lance was not taking any chances and moved his flashlight to his left hand then unstrapped his holster with his right. He had not pulled his firearm yet but wanted to make sure he could if needed so he left his hand resting on the butt of his weapon.
As he walked into the abandoned building, the inside of the house looked much like the exterior, framed in heavy timbers and beams, plaster walls. It was a nice house aside from some dust and cobwebs the house had not suffered much in the last five years. Just over the fireplace, an old painting set bolted to the wall. It was of an older woman dressed in vintage clothing, her face was narrow and pale almost homely. Framed by grey hair her lips were drawn in a tight grimace. It looked like she was dressed in a black gown though that could be wrong given the damage, with a white pleated collar. The whole painting was cracked and chipped like a broken eggshell covered in dust.
"Tomahawk Police" He called out again, then crossed the foyer and started up the stairs. The clomp of his boots on the wooden floor echoed from the ceiling above. His flashlight flickered a few times as he continued steadily up the stairs. With a low grunt, he shook it firmly. He could hear the faint thump of music like a pulsing base steady and deep. Must be a radio of some kind which confirmed someone was in the building.
He grabbed his shoulder radio to speak and pressed the button down. Just as his lips opened to speak a loud crackling static sound blared through the small speaker. He immediately released the button pausing in confusion. A small touch of anxiety started to disquiet itself inside him as he pressed the button again. The results were the same, the moment the button was pressed a blaring static like sound flared out of the speaker. "Shit" he muttered to himself in a low tone. Taking a few more steps up the stairs.
Goosebumps rippled up his arms and neck, the tickle of cold fingers playing over his skin was nerve racking. Steeling his emotions and trying to relax, he again called out louder this time "Tomahawk Police" Again there was no response. He proceeded up the remaining stairs, stepping into the long hallway and glancing at each door that was open. He saw nothing, but the sound seemed to amplify as he walked further down the hallway.
The creaks and scrapes of his boots on the wooden floor were hollow and resonating with the deep thump he was hearing. Suddenly his flashlight flickered again then died off completely blanketing the area in darkness. Lance wrapped his hand tightly around the grip of his weapon and paused in a ready stance. His pulse quickened and his neck ran cold with sweat.
His insides were tightening in a knot as he vigorously shook the flashlight. The anxiety he felt earlier grew even stronger and more intense he was going to have a full-blown panic attack. He felt an overwhelming sensation to leave, to run away. It was a foolish thought he was a police officer and had a job to do. The job can be scary it is just something we have to deal with he quietly repeated to himself in his mind.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he glanced around the area it felt like the shadows themselves were moving around him. Eyes, teeth, claws and other cold things waiting to pounce behind every door. As he took another step, he heard a door bang shut behind him. He froze feeling his heart jump right into his throat and looked over his shoulder at the door closest to the stairs.
The floorboards began to rumble the same sound he had heard further down the hall only much louder now, more pressing. The house shook violently and trembled as if the ground beneath the foundation were suddenly attacked by an earthquake. Lance drew his weapon feeling dizzy and a little nauseous. His stomach started doing summersaults and he bent over thinking he was going to throw up.
Another door slammed shut jolting him from whatever trance he was in. Sweat built around the edges of his hairline and he decided right there and then he had to get the hell out of this house. Suddenly the floorboards started clattering like a mad drum. Lance turned and ran down the hallway toward the staircase.
The first door that had slammed shut burst open with such force it banged against the wall with a loud crack that could be heard even over the rumbling floorboards. He raced down the stairs taking two or three at a time. His eyes flicked to the painting which seemed to be smiling, old rotten teeth jagged and broken peeked out from underneath its thinning lips the eyes watching with intensity as Lance continued rushing toward the door.
He reached for the door handle and threw it open nearly jumping from the house itself. His flashlight which he had somehow managed to keep hold of flicked back on. The clattering sounds from inside went dead silent and his radio clicked with life as a familiar voice rang out through its speaker "We need a 10-66 on officer Nicks, last location …" She spouted off the address where Lance was standing.
He took a deep breath reaching for his radio to report what happened but hesitated to look back at the entrance to the building. How the hell was he going to explain this?