Darkness. That was the only thing left. Apocalyptic nightmares turned true.
Groups of families gather at Ralston Mansion packed tight into every room.
Tents pitched and quiet talking.
My tool was an axe that my family used for chopping wood.  
I carried it effortlessly and would never let it go.
The loss of millions seemed like a terrible joke.
A joke of which nobody spoke.
Exploring the giant abode was my new mission.
Gleaming the crevices and dark corners, until I come to a large empty room.

The walls are high, and centered in the middle of the main wall was a single outlet.
From it out pored a strange dark stain that patterned a beautiful fractal.
As I studied the design, the wholeness of the geometric patterns stunned me.
There was something behind the walls.
Bleeding through the ancient wallpaper, something lied hidden.
I was undoubtedly enthralled and decided to force my axe heavily into the seeping image.
Instead of a solid hard noise, a gushing chop persisted.
I hastened my blows to my own disgust and horror.  
For as the chips of wood peeled away the secret was revealed.
Packed as tight as our putrid tents were,
the masses of dissected corpses flopped and thudded and fell to the ground.
Before I could move, I was piled.
I was suffocating and gasping for air.
Then it fades.
When I wake up, I’m sitting on an airplane.
I'm flying to London, and I cant remember what happened prior night.

The house dwarfed everything on the street. It was evidently quite old, but in good condition. The once white bricks were stained with years beating from the rain and wind, the windows unclear. Ebony frames supported the doors and glass windows, complete with matching shutters. A wrap-around porch hugged the left side of the house’s structure tightly. The house had a classical type of beauty. In its stupor from the long years, it still stood strong; still, it had intimidated nearly everybody in the small town that encompassed it.
        The first car parked on the driveway said enough; it was an Oldsmobile, a strong, classic car – the type of car you really only see in movies anymore. The others that followed were all newer, luxury cars. Each looked to be worth more than Kieran might ever have to his name. This was more than a guess.
He had walked past this house many times, almost always curiously peering in through the windows. He wondered sometimes what the people inside were like, what they did with their spare time, whether or not they had secret lives that they kept from one another. The term ‘enigma’ came to mind when he tried to fill the blank silhouettes he had seen in the window with pictures. He had never quite been able to get that image right. He had only found out how wrong he had been about the owners of the place once he had met her.
He waded through the deep snow surrounding the path he had known to be apparent on warmer days. Approaching the light steps vacating the doorway, he noticed that a flickering light had been emitting itself from the uppermost window adjacent to the balcony.
In the letter that he had found under the slip of his door frame earlier that day, Kieran had been instructed to enter the house without bothering to knock at precisely quarter past the hour of eight. He had found the request to be odd, but he had been victim to curiosity, as he always was when it came to Briardale.
He turned the **** of the dark oak door before him. The step below him gave an alarming creak as he shifted his weight forward, making him stop. Again, he began to pass the cusp between her world and his own. He padded forward and headed towards the stairs. His heavy boots thudded on the floor beneath and left a rather hollow noise that echoed through the large expanse.
As he crept up the stairs, his curiosity and excitement heightened. The top of the staircase seemed both close and far away as the space between him and the flickering light dwindled. He heard the sound of contemporary music flowing in the dark. It curled into his ears and under his flesh; he felt a chill in the air as his senses began to tingle.
Finally he had reached the top of the staircase. He paused for a minute, allowing the moment to sink in. He stared at the door, ajar and alluring, as she and all she did always were.
“Why the hesitation?” she asked, almost inaudibly between the music and her soft spoken voice.
He parted his lips ever so slightly and licked the dry edges. He swallowed and hoped that she had not heard. He continued forward and pushed open the door tentatively.
She lifted her eyes to his in the mirror before her. “I’ve been waiting”
He looked at Briardale’s sketched figure, outlined by what looked to be decades of lit candles. Her dark hair shone brilliantly in their wake. A deep red robe encircled her, wrapping her like a present. Her bare legs were tucked under the vanity daintily.
“Come closer” she whispered. She turned down the music.
Kieran traveled the short distance between them and allowed for a small smile to take his lips. “You look beautiful” he said.
“Thank you”
He placed his weathered hands on her soft shoulders and felt the difference between the two. He looked deeply in her eyes in the vanity mirror. She put the brush she had been holding down. She turned to meet his gaze.
She glanced up at him subtly, almost bashfully. She stood and walked towards the bed. Her robe fell, and decidedly she had neglected to wear anything but.  He followed.
Together they sunk into the bed, the scent of clean linen surrounding the two of them. She took his hand, and innocently guided it towards her face. She brought her own fingers to touch his slight beard that had developed fully and fruitfully. She kissed him lightly on the lips.
He knew then that no other person could make him feel the way that he did. She comprised of a thousand shades and colours, and he wanted to learn each one by title. He wanted to know each part of her. She had gained the ability to grasp his life in the palm of her hand; to make him feel as though he was the one who was vulnerable and needed protecting. Loving her was like standing at the top of a cliff and leaping, the free-falling feeling encompassing and grand. Loving her was like waiting for a the subway train to take away your sorrows as you walk purposefully towards its oncoming traffic, and it stopping before you have a chance to jump. Briardale was his split-second happiness after the fall, his second chance in an unforgiving world.

I lay my red cheek heavily on the wooden walls that have enclosed some existence for... how long?
Planks upon planks of royalty- sliced apart to shelter me. Keeping me safe.
What kind of sound did you make when they cut you down? Did others see? Did you hear their hearts break as you thudded into the ground? Were you proud?
To lose your crown.
And now you're holding your place, as a families base in some nowhere tiny town.
So tell me, What have you seen here?
You freckled knotted wood!
You can trust me, you can tell me!
As I sleep- whisper into my dreams.
Your gorgeous and solemn,
and
your dead silence makes me angry.
My little red cheek blushes even harder at your hollow absence.
Are your secrets trapped forever behind your once so stoic posture?
And if your secrets are lost, can I whisper you mine?
Will you keep them hidden in your history? Add them to your rings?
Remnants of who you were stare back at me.
I guess you could say the same.
You have heard my secrets.
You do hear my cries.
When it's 3 am and the weight of my sorrows is too much for my shoulders, and your floor boards creak, just like you could speak.
You know that sometimes our shelves need dusting.
You offer me a place to whisper more grey matter into the air,
still hoping to lure you out of silence.
It's not fair that you know so much more about my soul.
Could you please tell me what I'm going to sound like when I come thudding down?
Your secrets are too deep.
So I'm left with my little red cheek anxiously pressed against your wooden walls.