Chapter Five

Debello Manor was still as big, but not as beautiful or grand. The paint was chipped and peeling in places, creating ghastly streaks of broken colour. The windows were cracked and smashed so that when the sun slid behind the horizon, the jagged pieces of glass lit up like orange teeth. The building's two top windows, previously beautiful and filled with stained glass, were open, gaping holes. They resembled sad, empty eyes, and made you feel a deep pity for the poor, forsaken house.

No one would live in it, even though it was so beautiful. Even in its state of disrepair, it was worth a small fortune. Instead of being cherished and taken care of, its beauty was left to rot and decay until the sight of it no longer evoked gasps of pleasure and enjoyment, but sighs of heart wrenching pity.

The great edifice that once housed the wealthy and powerful had been touched by the cursed hand of the half-spirits, and now no one would enter its walls except the few poor, starving refugees who were too desperate to be superstitious. Here and there throughout its halls were the homeless and the runaways, crouched near small fires and buried under blankets. Most of the valuable things had been stolen or destroyed, but there was furniture enough to use for firewood. It was a lovely bit of broken comfort for those who didn't get it often.

It was late at night, the whole town was asleep except for one poor drunk stumbling home. No light came from any window or lamp and the daytime world was still. The only sounds were those of crickets singing out their loneliness and of the wind whispering through the small cracks and crevices in places that only the wind can find. Off in the corner of the village, a lone firefly sent out his light, calling for love. And so nature called out to one another in the darkness, searching for the one who would make them whole.

However, nature's touch seemed to avoid the base of a hill near the village. There, in the dark shadows of the silvery moon, lurked a small band of beings whose very existence made a mockery of the nature around them. Their dark features were cast in anticipation and their eyes were riveted on the bright, glowing moon.

Unaware of the predators below the hill on which it rested, the sad, broken house held its visitors close. Small flickers of fire lit its inside, creating clouds of light in the ominous darkness of the place. Those inside the cloud could see nothing outside it and lived in their own island of safety from the cold, harsh night. One such fire lit up the anxious faces of a small family, sitting on the floor of what was once a kitchen that the servants would have used. On one wall was an old fireplace that had collapsed and closed in on itself and around them were stone counters, crumbling at the edges. There was one window set high in the wall, revealing a starless sky. The only door into the room had been broken off years ago, leaving a doorway that gaped open into the night.

In their little island of light, the family couldn't see much past the stone counters. A husband and wife pressed their daughters close to them. The youngest one, no more than eight years old, was fast asleep in her mother's lap. The older one, a young woman with long hair, was stirring the fire restlessly.

"I hate being here," she whispered, "Why do we have to be here?"

"We're waiting for the moon to pass. It should only be a few minutes - really short. This is the only place where no one would care enough to check. They wouldn't even suspect us here." Her father looked at the beautiful face of his wife as she stroked their sleeping child's hair. "It won't last long and then we'll be out of here. We'll be gone by morning." His quiet, tremulous voice made her think he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince her.

Far off through the walls, they heard the faint sounds of a church bell ringing. Once it rang. Twice it rang. Three times it rang. The eldest daughter leaned back and looked up through the window at the moon. Slowly a pale yellow orange tint began to cover its surface and she held her breath. "Here we go," The mother said. She bent her face down over her child, as if to protect her.

The wind stood still and the crickets quieted and the firefly stopped its light search for love. The trees stopped swaying and the clouds were motionless. Not a sound could be heard in the house or the village. The dark silence lasted several minutes, as the world held its breath.

A loud thud sounded over their heads. A few seconds later, there was another one, and another. Scrapings and scratchings echoed down from the beams above, and war cries rang down the fireplace and shook the stones. Panic clouded the family's eyes and they frantically scrambled to gather their wits and run.

The father carried his youngest child and the other daughter dragged her mother along by the hand. They sprinted out of the room and across a small dining room, hearing the shouts and stomps of their pursuers tearing through the house searching for them. The cluster of refugees stole through rooms and halls and stairwells, each one a perfect picture of beauty gone to waste.

The little girl woke up and began to scream. "Shh!" Her father clapped his hand firmly over her mouth. "Be silent, Katia." The family's feet pounded harshly on the floors, first sounding deep and booming, next sounding tinny and echoing as they passed between oak and marble. The girl could have screamed her throat sore and it would not have kept their pursuers from finding them.

They rounded a corner and found dead ends in all directions. The mother began to panic.

"Father," the eldest daughter said between deep ragged breaths. "You take Katia. I'll take mother. If we separate, we'll confuse them and we might be able to escape."

"No!" Her father shouted at her, sweat pouring down his face. "I will not let you go!"

A door at the end of the hallway shook as someone on the other side pounded their fists on its face. Everyone living jumped with shock. "Father, I'm going!" She tore back down the hall towards the door that was under attack, her mother following dumbly after.

"Gloria!" Her father shouted after her. "Gloria, come back!" His voice cracked but he didn't move. The daughter in his arms, tears glistening on her cheeks, looked up at him in waiting. He watched the two women turn and run back up a stairwell they had just come down. From down the hall, he heard the hinges on the door starting to give way. He had to move fast.