Free The Mansion by Peter Buckley Page B

the room changed before him like a
reseeding tide; half the room was still dressed in all it's
splendor and brightly lit and still decorated, while the other half
was returning to the darker old room that the team had used as a
base camp for their monitors and equipment. On both sides of the
room the children still stood, their charred and burned skulls
screaming at him.
    He ran through to the front door and charged
at it. He tucked his head down in preparation for the impact of his
shoulder against the door and closed his eyes. The heavy thick-set
door didn’t even budge. He found himself rebounding and sliding
along the floor.
    A blast of cold air alerted him to another
presence. He didn’t want to wait to find out whom or what was going
to appear; he just wanted out. He pushed himself to his feet, not
even noticing the little pool of blood left by the open gash in his
chin, reopened the moment he crashed into the door.
    He ran back towards the dining room and
almost fell over his team’s equipment and monitors. There were no
other people or any sign of the ring of blue energy that had hung
above the table moments earlier. He quickly looked up at the
sculpture and noticed it was back to its darkened, empty self. He
moved through the adjacent door and down a small corridor and burst
into the kitchen, the darkness of the room causing him to come to a
complete stop just inside. He could not see or hear anything; he
backed up until he was standing next to the open door. He ran his
right hand up and down and along the wall, feeling for a light
switch. His eyes searched the darkened room ahead of him, and he
made several passes of where he thought the switch would be before
looking at the wall in the dim light and seeing the little
round-tipped switch. He quickly flicked it down and returned his
gaze to the room.
    The room sat empty; the pots and pans that
hung above the large table slowly began to move. He then felt the
cold air begin to swirl around his legs before increasing in
intensity and height. The clanging of the pots and pans caused a
sudden electric charge to run up his back. He spun around,
searching the room as the cold wind continued to increase in
speed.
    ‘You can’t escape what you always wanted. You
asked to join us,’ several voices said in unison.
    Tony ran across the kitchen towards the door
in the corner. Pots escaped their hooks and flew from the rack
towards the investigator as he raced across the room. He ducked and
dodged the metal cooking pans, hearing them crash against the floor
or wall. He reached the door and pulled on the handle, half
expecting it to resist against his effort, but it flew open,
forcing him to stumble backwards. He felt the coldness of the floor
tiles on his hands and his backside through his trousers as he hit
the floor. He quickly pushed himself up as the voices began to
laugh. The sound of the laughter surrounded him as if it were
coming from within the swirling wind. He ran through the door and
into a corridor. He continued down towards the large oak door at
the far end of the corridor that led through to the library. He
looked over his shoulder several times, seeing nothing but sensing
the energy and coldness of the wind that followed him. Several
voices continued to laugh and call to him as he ran towards the
door, a door that seemed to be moving away. His eyes widened as he
watched it pull away from him. He found himself running faster, his
chest burning as his lungs struggled to take in oxygen. The
laughter got louder, and he could feel the cold air pushing against
the sweat on his neck. He couldn’t run any more, and his body began
to buckle, his legs giving way, forcing him to begin to stumble
forward. Just as he gave in to his exhaustion and prepared himself
to fall to the floor, the large oak door appeared, and he smashed
his already bloodied face into the dark-stained wood, his nose
shattering on impact.
    Tony’s body lay at the foot of the large oak
door