Chronicles of the Lost: The Warrior

Little Red House

"That door opened on its own," I said. "There was no click to unlock it even."

"The wind was blowing pretty hard. It may have blown it open." Tristan reasoned.

"I checked. This knob was locked." I insisted, but per the usual, he failed to listen.

"This isn't a knob that locks. It's too old to have a lock inside it. The lock is in the door." He pointed. "See."

"I'm telling you, the knob didn't turn. Either way, there was no click for the key in the lock." I said again.

"Look, I'm cold and it looks warm in there. I'm going in." Tristan said as he stepped toward the threshold.

"I feel like this will not turn out well. This is not good." I reached for his arm, but he pulled it away, leaving me and the suitcases standing on the porch alone.

"Hello." He called out. "Hello."

He headed toward the dining room and disappeared from my line of sight, repeating the greeting like a mantra. Frankly, at this moment, my gut felt like someone had kicked it. It was so against entering this space, but then the wind kicked up again, more violent this time, almost knocking me off the porch. As I caught myself, I noticed the door didn't waver. The fire didn't flicker and the curtains didn't sway as if the wind hadn't penetrated the room.

Hesitating only long enough for another gust of wind, I grabbed the bags and dragged them over the threshold. With one hard yank, I sent myself stumbling across the hardwood floor. The moment the bags and I were clear of the door, it swung shut on its own accord. Feeling this was not a good sign, I stood quickly but didn't make it to the knob in time. I heard the lock click into place and when I attempted to open the lock or the door, neither would budge.

Tristan walked out of the dining room like a movie cliche, sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other, sauntering around like he owned the place. Sitting down on the couch, he proceeded to set down his plate and drink, looking for a remote to the flat screen mounted above the fireplace.

"Why bother? You probably can't tune anything in out here in this storm." I grumbled at him as I rolled the suitcases, flattening them against a wall.

"You want a sandwich? Or something else?" He spit as he talked with his mouth full. "There's loads of food in the kitchen."

I felt myself grimace and watched as he rolled his eyes at my response. Looking around, I tried to figure out if someone was home but asleep. The heat was on but so were all the lights. Who would turn on all the lights and then go to sleep?

"Before I make myself...well...comfortable, like you." I motioned in his direction, "I think I'm going to check upstairs. If someone is asleep up there and wakes up, I don't want to be the one who startles them into picking up a shotgun. You remember that condo in Vegas, right?" I raised my eyebrows hoping to emphasize the point. "That didn't turn out so well for us and we were lucky to get out alive after scaring the owner with our impromptu visit."

He shrugged as he took another bite and proceeded to check the other side table for the remote to no avail, forcing him to stand and start looking around the room. I sighed as I looked over my shoulder and then up the tall staircase to the landing at the top.

The hallway was as narrow as it was bright and I couldn't help but wonder how many rooms were up here. Two doors to my left and four to my right, this space was clearly too small for this many rooms. Perhaps some were closets. It was an old house and sometimes they look pretty small. Perhaps it was like Dr. Who, bigger on the inside. Or maybe from the distance, it was hard to decipher the size of the house.