As I linger in my leather wing chair, with the rivets digging into my arms, I realize that the fire in the hearthside was becoming warm embers. I was beginning to become low on chopped wood so I walked through the darkened library, past the family portraits, which had been painted many centuries ago, as I heard a shriek in the floor. I turned to nothing but the darkness of the hall and the shadows of the broken lamp posts outside, so I turned back to head towards the trough of wood where I grabbed six pieces to start with.
With the pieces in my arms I decide to go around the hall now completely darkened with temptation. Without a light or torch in hand I walk at a swift pace back towards my now powdered ashes. Out of the corner I see an object begin to shake as I hear groans and mumbles. They penetrate my mind with images from the prior ages. Now running back to the library with fear, sweat tickling my chin, my eyes search for a solution. Shutting the locked door behind me in the study, I stand there glaring at the crystalline knob wondering why it had locked, there was no key, no lock, how could it have stayed shut? I turn to find the library now in flames with smoke filling up the air in the vaulted, trussed ceiling. With the fire licking the carpet with its majestic dance, I see something in them, a figure, a man, my God it is my once living father who had become infamous for murdering his wife in her sleep. Get me out of here, I scream, pleading to be let free from this tremendous coffin. I feel the smoke creeping in my lungs, as I burn breathing in the toxic air. Charging at the door to try and knock it down, with no success, just watching my father in the fire flow closer to my now burning feet. I can smell my burning pores, with pain shooting up my leg. Unable to proceed I collapse and wait for the fire to engulf me, the flames melting every part of my being. As I lie there with my skin now singed to the floor, the misery tries to escape through my excruciating screams and evaporating tears. This terror was stopped by my father clasping his hands over my identity. Hoping and praying that this living hell ends soon, I feel my face peeling from my skull and as my vision becomes black I wake up with a jolt.
Sweating profusely, with my heart leaping bounds, searching with my eyes dying inside. I close them to thank God that I was alive and not being caressed by my hearth. I then look down to it where the fire was becoming low and decide I need more wood. As I started to turn away from the fire, I catch a glimpse of a flickering hand in the flames.
