Post by The Katarite on Nov 2, 2014 18:11:48 GMT -5
The ancient and abandoned house on Stark St. was an eerie and disturbing sight to behold. Due to the heavy abundance of recent noise complaints from the surrounding neighborhood, and then the disappearance of several police officers sent to investigate strange noises coming from the house, Detective Briggs was assigned to this mystery. Marvin C. Briggs was a man of solitude and silence, but could also be outspoken. He always dressed in navy or black suits, accompanied by clean white shirts and black ties. His black leather shoes were always polished, as well as his matching belt.
Detective Briggs pulled up in front of the house’s lawn in a black 2015 Lincoln MKZ, and peered through his tinted windows with dull brown eyes. He sighed and casually got out of the car before proceeding to light a cigarette. While smoking, he observed the old house, from the brown and weed filled lawn to the tattered porch and broken windows. When his eyes passed a window on the second floor, his sharp eyes caught glimpse of a face looking back at him. However, by the time he blinked, the face was gone. Actually, it happened so quickly that he wasn’t so sure if he had even seen a face. Shrugging it off and extinguishing his cigarette, he proceeded into the lawn. The gate creaked as he opened it, making Detective Briggs laugh a little. The stereotypical creaky gate was synonymous with so-called haunted houses.
He got to the porch and in an attempt at self-humor, he knocked on the door and laughed again…only to hear a whisper. This whisper was loud enough for one to think that a person had their lips within centimeters of their ear.
“Leave…”
Detective Briggs ducked to the side and looked around cautiously, reaching for his gun: a .45 ACP Stainless Steel Kimber pistol. When he saw nothing, he began to make his way back to his car, but the wood underneath him gave away, allowing him to plummet into the large ditch below…
Detective Briggs pulled up in front of the house’s lawn in a black 2015 Lincoln MKZ, and peered through his tinted windows with dull brown eyes. He sighed and casually got out of the car before proceeding to light a cigarette. While smoking, he observed the old house, from the brown and weed filled lawn to the tattered porch and broken windows. When his eyes passed a window on the second floor, his sharp eyes caught glimpse of a face looking back at him. However, by the time he blinked, the face was gone. Actually, it happened so quickly that he wasn’t so sure if he had even seen a face. Shrugging it off and extinguishing his cigarette, he proceeded into the lawn. The gate creaked as he opened it, making Detective Briggs laugh a little. The stereotypical creaky gate was synonymous with so-called haunted houses.
He got to the porch and in an attempt at self-humor, he knocked on the door and laughed again…only to hear a whisper. This whisper was loud enough for one to think that a person had their lips within centimeters of their ear.
“Leave…”
Detective Briggs ducked to the side and looked around cautiously, reaching for his gun: a .45 ACP Stainless Steel Kimber pistol. When he saw nothing, he began to make his way back to his car, but the wood underneath him gave away, allowing him to plummet into the large ditch below…
