• As I sit alone, a young man of just 36. The dark encumbering room gives me a sense of false security as the shadows dance around me like that of a flame in a fire, the cold air making the dark whiskers on my chin stand up as the breezes passed over my face and through my short, ruffled brown hair. My candle flickered as the smell of my old cologne rises to my nose slowly, like heat rising off the asphalt. As I rise from my chair, the darkness seems to want to push me back down into the chair. I grab my book and stow it under my arm as I take the candle and walk through my great, dark, and haunted house as the visions of tall, dark shadows swirl and dance around me.
    In local folklore, my house has been occupied by various shady characters before my family inherited it. The guests have told me that the house seems to be watching them slowly as they travel the long driveway and to the oversized wooden doors with a knocker the size of a small child. The knocker sends out a deafening knock that travels through every room in the household, startling me and anyone else in the house, alerting us that someone is outside in the frigid air, wanting to come in.
    As I emerged from my room, the sound of the knocker rushes through the house with an eerie like echo. Startled, I make my way through the long, dark, and disorienting halls to the door. I swing the door wide open with a smiled just as large as the door itself, but there is no one there to receive my effort. As I step out into the night, more shadows seem to join in on the dance around me. The eerie lap of the waves crashing on the overlook of my house sends chills down my spine as I close the door. Watching the door, I try to find out what would have caused this loud, disrupting noise. I stomped on the floor trying to recreate such a sound, but fail miserably. I peak out the window on my front porch and down the driveway, hoping to see some young kids playing ding dong ditch, but see nothing aside from the lights leading down my driveway. I open the door again to step out into the breeze once more and use the knocker myself. That was the sound, perfect in pitch and volume. Another gust of wind comes by, and I watch as it tries to move the knocker, but it cannot pick up the heavy metal piece. Confused, I step back into my house and leave the door open. I tighten up my robe in an effort to keep some heat it. I glace out the door and begin to shut it again.
    When the door clicks shut, there is another bang up in my attic, in which I would never have thought of visiting in the middle of the night. The rustic house lets out creaks and moans, sighing after my weight is taken off each step. I reach the attic door, and it lets out a loud screech until it reaches its limits. My candle jumps again, as if it too were scared, as it struggles to lighten up the attic. The light seemed only to shine on one object, a dusty old book. I strain my eyes to see anything else in this light, but I find no evidence of anyone being up here. I pick up the book and open it up. Dust flies up, attacking me. I cough and look back at the book, and find a picture of and old man, staring back at me with his lifeless eyes, black hair, big nose, and emotionless face, showing just how much he has worked, done dirty deeds, but showing no remorse. On the top of the page, written and bold, black letters was written: Dracula.
    I haste-fully read through the book, and various other names appear across the old fragile papers, Dr. Frankenstein being just one of them. I am mystified by the sights, the words and this book, and I begin the notice the old musty smell coming up from the book. Soon after I clear away the smell form my nose, a door not to far form me slams shut. “Hello? Is anybody here?” I question, hoping for an answer. The silence pierces my ears like a cold dagger. I carefully sneak to the door, trying to capture this unknown intruder. I open the door quickly. The wind rushes through the room, rustling the curtains and the moon light shows itself and brightens the room. The black furniture sends a chill up my spine as the moonlight reflects off the dark unforgiving surface. Another slam down the hall sends me tumbling into the room for cover.
    I edge out into the black lifeless corridor, to see which door has slammed. I have never seen this door before, and soon my curiosity takes over me, as I walk toward this mysterious door, I have a feeling that there are peering eyes all around me, making sure I go to this door. I run my fingers down the door, feeling every small bump and cracks. I shine the weak candle toward the door, to see what I have just touched. The mysterious carvings of scared faces pop out at me, dozens of them, wanting me to help them and end their suffering. Some of these faces are oddly familiar, like they are people I would see almost everyday. I start to turn the old and rusty door knob slowly to the right, and the doorknob giving me a hard time, trying to keep me out from whatever secrets may lie beyond. I gently push the door open, letting it swing to its full extent. The pitch black room breathes cold air out onto me, and I stand fully erect and chilled. I insert my candle into the room slowly, and the light form my candle cannot shine through the darkness intruding upon it. I close my eyes, and step into the room, hoping to get my eyes adjusted. The sudden burst of cold air rushes over my face and body. I open my eyes to see my house crawling toward the heavens and hear the door shut loudly. A sudden slap of the ocean hits my back, and I am emerged into the colder and darker water. I have fallen of the cliff my house rests on. On the door, my face becomes another trophy, along with the other scared faces.