Writers Craft Story

"Save me from the dark, save me from the nothing I've become" The last word coming out at barely a whisper as Freyberg read over the disturbing message etched into the pale walls. Rudecki began to walk over to the other two men, slowly turning trying to read all of the disturbing messages that were scattered throughout the room. "I always thought Lieutenant Smith was a little odd" whispered Rudecki into Freyberg's ear, Freyberg could do nothing but nod in agreement, as he continued to read the message over and over, trying to unravel what it meant. Freyberg and Quinn had been called by Rudecki to come and inspect Lieutenant Smith's house, ever since Smiths disappearance weird noises could be heard from the old house.

Quinn coughed slightly as the floating plaster invaded his lungs causing small coughs to course through his shocked body. A sense of guilt ran through Quinn as the voices started to ring through his ears again, how could he have not known that his friend was this troubled.

Quinn, Freyberg, and Rudecki stood where they were for awhile trying to absorb all that they were seeing, it wasn't until Freyberg turned and headed back to the desk situated in the center of the room that the concentration was broken. Quinn watched as the small, but strong form of Freyberg moved back to the desk, handkerchief over his mouth so as to keep the invading plaster out of his lungs. Quinn watched in confusion as Freyberg looked through the records scattered on the table.

The records looked like that had been piled on top of desk for decades because of the thick layer of dust that had settled upon everything in the room, giving the room and eerily old and haunted feel. Freyberg picked up the first record on the old table and blew the plaster away causing the black to shine through once again. The record was not labeled; age had torn away at the once new label. Freyberg placed the record on the old gramophone and began to crank the wheel. Quinn and Rudecki looked on confused at Freyberg's actions, and yet still curious as to what type of sound would emerge from the old playing device.

The crank on the gramophone was old and squeaked as Freyberg turned it, at first no sound emitted from the old machine, but then as Freyberg continued to turn the crank a soft noise began to echo throughout the cold room. The noise began to get louder and louder as Freyberg continued, the sound bouncing off the etched walls, the music was one that could not be deciphered, but it sounded old and aged, it resembled the house.

Rudecki watched Freyberg; fear starting to course through his body, the walls of the room began to move as if they were alive. Rudecki began to tremble as the walls called out to him, the menacing whispers echoing throughout the house calling him to join them. Rudecki let small gasps emerge from his body as his mind began to overfill from the constant voices. Rudecki looked around frantically as the walls began to enclose him, trapping him in the walls just like they did to Lieutenant Smith, a glow began to encompass the once pale walls. Rudecki gripped his head and let a strangled cry emit from his throat, as he turned and ran from the rooms. Trying to escape the death that had become present in the cold rooms, trying to escape from something that would plague his dreams until his own death.

Freyberg and Quinn watched as Rudecki left the room screaming as if he had seen death himself. Neither Freyberg or Quinn could find the words to describe what they had just witnessed, but both knew deep down that something was not right. There was something in the two rooms that had been vandalized by Smiths hand that could be felt as soon as they entered. "We should leave" Quinn whispered, his voice quivering slightly. Freyberg looked at the old lieutenant and nodded in agreement as he began to walk away from the desk that was situated in the middle of the room.

As Freyberg began to walk away from the table his jacket was caught on the corner of the old gramophone making the machine shift and causing the desk to rock back and forth spilling the records onto the ground.

The dust from the records billowed up in a mushroom cloud causing both Freyberg and Quinn to start coughing, as the crash echoed throughout the rooms, and throughout the old house. As the dust began to settle Freyberg looked down and noticed that almost all of the old chipped and cracked records had shattered as they hit the floor. But that was not the only thing that had captured the keen eyes of Freyberg. A pile of papers that were situated under the old records had also spilled onto the floor scattering throughout the room. Quinn bent down and picked up some papers that had fallen in front of his feet. Quinn looked at the papers that were covered in words that resembled the words that were etched onto the walls. But these words had a different value to them. Unlike the words on the walls that had been etched carefully onto the walls, these words on the paper were frantic, and panicked, as almost a plea for help. The words on the wall were a plea for help but it was a plea that Smith knew would not be answered, it was almost like Smith had lost his battle with his inner demons once he started to etch his frantic words into the walls.

A tear trailed down Quinn's face as he stared at the papers, the tear causing his peach colored skin to shine through the white dust that had settled itself on his skin. Freyberg ignored Quinn's reactions as he looked at the papers, not needing to pick any of the papers up to know what they held on them. Freyberg looked around chills beginning to run down his spine, causing him to shudder, as a small gust of wind blew through the room causing the papers to flutter slightly. Freyberg looked at Quinn who had no noticed the breeze that had coursed through the room, even though there was no windows in the room.

Freyberg looked down at the papers that had scattered even further throughout the room when a message stuck out from the papers. In big bold letters the words "LEAVE NOW" stuck out from the rest of the papers. Freyberg felt the chill run through him again as the words echoed throughout his mind. The strange feeling of being watched had begun to encompass Freyberg as he looked back to Quinn who was now aware of the feeling of being watched also.

"Lets go" Freyberg mumbled as he moved out of the room.

Quinn said nothing but followed Freyberg out of the rooms and out of the house, occasionally looking back into the house were his friend had once lived.

As both men walked out of the old house the wind picked up the house and the door slammed shut behind them. Both men glanced at one another the silence between the comfortable, neither one wanting to talk about what they had just felt. Quinn looked over to his right as he heard the sound of a car door slam shut; Rudecki had packed his bags and looked like he was leaving. "I don't blame him," Freyberg said as he made his way toward his car. Quinn could do nothing but stare at Rudecki's retreating car.

Quinn and Freyberg got into Freyberg's car as they began to make there way back to the army base which was not to far down the road, both had to go back and report what had happened at Smiths house. If either of the men had looked back to the house they would have seen a pair of icy blue eyes watching them leave, and then a smile appear as the figure backed away from the window.

Once the men arrived at the base, they both were unable to say what had actually happened in the house, not wanting to relive what they had felt, both knowing that no one would believe them.

Neither Freyberg or Quinn had found out what actually happened to Lieutenant Smith, but when the police had gone into Smiths house they had found Smith sitting slumped over on the desk, a smiled etched into his face as his blood had circled around his chair. The police had said that it was suicide but both Quinn and Freyberg knew differently. The both knew there was something in that old army house that was not right, and neither man would step near that house again.