Crooked House

Prologue

Crooked House was almost complete. And it was beautiful. A few dozen workers were scattered among the large building, hammering fake portraits onto the walls, hanging rather realistic looking fake cobwebs from corners, on mantles and in the chandelier above the dining room. Watching them all was the man in the black suit. That's what some of them called him anyway, for no one had ever learned his name. But most knew him as His Assistant. He stood there watching them, hands clasped behind his back, the multiple rings upon his fingers glinting in the workers bright lamp. He wasn't a very tall man, maybe about 5'6, but he was handsome. His face was sharp, his eyes nearly a pure black color. he and had his dark hair smoothed back.
"He will be pleased," he said aloud to himself. Then he turned around and made his way back to the basement. When he walked through the door to His chamber, the strong scent of blood hit him instantly, and a chicken carcass was being thrown into a fire made in a metal barrel. The flames jumped and the chicken sizzled and popped loudly. The man in the black suit approached the chicken-thrower politely, as if nothing had happened. This other figure was tall, slender and covered head to toe in a bright, blood red cloak. He looked at his assistant as he approached.
"Sir, the house is almost complete. Things are looking wonderful, i'm sure things will run smoothly." The cloaked man simply nodded, and did not say anything. He rarely spoke and when he ever did it was usually to his assistant, whom he never really addressed by any name. His assistant could barely see his face under the hood of his garment, but he knew the other man was grinning. The man in the black suit nodded politely, then turned to go back to watching over the workers, His followers. When he reached the door, a dusty, deep, croaky voice spoke up behind him. "
"Inform Sam that his time is coming soon."
"Yes sir."
He walked out of the door and turned left, down the hallway and towards another door. This one was red, with a small skull painted onto it. He knocked, then entered. The room was lit by the glow of the many jack-o-lanterns that were scattered about the small, cell like space. This man was shirtless and tattoos covered most of his back, which was turned towards the other man. Depictions of horrific violence were inked forever onto his pale skin, beheadings, people in electric chairs, one showed a man stabbing a woman in the face and the strange abstract quality to it made it all the more disturbing.
"Sam, things upstairs are almost finished. Your time is coming soon."
Sam turned his head around very slightly, his long hair handing over his face. "It's about damn time," he said and smirked.The man in the black suit once again nodded politely, then stepped back out of the room, closing the red door behind him. He walked up the rickety basement steps and through door which, from the outside, looked like all the other walls. He looked at the space around him, with its crooked walls and slanted doors and windows, and its cobwebs and rubber spiders and snakes, and the skeletons and fake corpses propped up in coffins. Halloween is such a great time, he thought, but this year was to be even better. For this year was the year of Donn-the god of death. Let all who enter Crooked House experience the true ancient spirit of Samhain, that which is chaos, death, and destruction...