Your journey west from the
place where you fought with the zombie was at first uneventful. The moon was up,
yet it was hidden like an innocent child, by the grim clouds. Its light dimmed
to almost total darkness. The empty road you were on stretched for as far as the
eye could see, and was lined by houses on both sides. Not frequent, like in the
center of a city, but spacious, not unlike the outskirts of a small town. The
house where all dark and abandoned, as though their masters where driven out by
unseen and deadly forces. A mile off, you saw the small light of candle in a
window, standing out like a beacon on a hill. It was the only choice for you.
Perhaps the residents were home, and would let you use their phone. Slowly but
surely you crept toward the light, as if a ship at sea.
The house was old and damp, and seemed many
a year old. Great doors were the centerpiece. Upon this massive house perched
bats, and statues of monsters of old. The windows where cold, as if portals to a
gloomy dimension. Your unbroken hand knocked twice upon the door, making a
muffled, yet stern noise. Here it seemed your survival was guaranteed. The door
was unlocked and opened by a man in a cloak, his skin pale as the moon. He wore
only black, and looked ancient.
“Please, I need your help, sir,” you
pleaded,” I broke my arm, and am lost, please let my use your phone,”
“Go right ahead my bloody friend, I shall
look upon your arm as you do, for I am the master at the healing arts,” he
replied, with a foreign accent.
“Thank you so much!” you exclaimed, with
a sense of relief, as you followed the man to the telephone. Dialing the number
for your house, you sat down on a chair by the phone. Here the man lifted your
arm and looked at it hungrily. You
may: