Specter - Prologue
Ten teenagers, five male, five female, stood before an old building, obviously in shambles.
Only three would survive.
All ten walked in and suddenly found themselves lost. Hopelessly lost. Alone.
~~ I ~~
A pale-skinned, slender boy stood in a large room. It appeared to be a dining room, almost. He reached back with one hand to adjust the band keeping his long, golden hair tied back in a ponytail, tightening it by pulling it closer to his head, then using the knuckle of his right hand to push up his glasses by pushing upwards on the brim, the clear, round lenses necessary for his poor-sighted, deep chocolate-brown eyes to see properly. Some of his hair - like his bangs - was short enough to still hang freely in his face, giving him the need to push some behind an ear every now and then.
"Hello..? Guys, where are you?" Concern was laced deep in his voice, his call quiet but still loud enough to reach the ends of the vast room, only because it was dead quiet at the moment. Adjusting the uneven drawstrings of his scarlet jacket, he unzipped the front and confidently rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, putting his hands on his hips and surveying the area.
A large, ornate table was centered in the room, a clean white tablecloth covering the top, plates, forks, knives, glasses and napkins set out as if ready for dinner, several candelabras set out down the table. Empty platters sat between pairs of candlesticks, the candles set in the metal lit, seemingly fresh as the wax had barely melted as of then. Four chairs were set on each side of the length of the table, one on each end, evenly placed underneath the tabletop. Blocked-out windows lined one wall, candles set on the wall in the empty spaces between them. Underneath the table and chairs was an expensive-looking rug, black in color.
A cold breeze suddenly whipped into the room, odd, as no window was open, nor any doors. It was sudden and strong enough to blow out every candle in the room, bathing the fifteen-year-old in complete darkness. "Wha-- who did that??" He called out, looking around in an attempt to see, but it was simply too dark. His only response was a mischievous chuckling coming from somewhere around him. It seemed like it was everywhere yet nowhere all at once, unsettling him.
"You're not afraid of the dark, are you, Tristain?" A voice taunted him. He wasn't, but how did this voice know his name? It was Xander Tristain. He had never visited this house before. Yet whoever this voice before knew him well enough to know his full name - or, at least, his last name. Almost as quickly as they had been blown out, an unseen force lit every candle, all at once. His surroundings had changed. Many of the plates were now on the floor, shattered. A candlestick had toppled, a scorched black stain marking the pure white cloth. Blood splatters were scattered around in the room, almost as if a violent murder had been committed in it. One window was broken, a weak breeze disturbing the thin curtain over it.
He looked out of the window.
All he saw was endless, pitch-black darkness.
~~ II ~~
A throbbing pain woke up the young girl. She stood up, rubbing at a temple with a palm. Looking around, she wondered exactly where she was. Fiery red hair hung to the middle of her back, some spilling over her shoulders, a pale brown newsboy cap topping her head. Vibrant green eyes stood out against freckle-covered olive skin. She tugged a white silk scarf over her mouth, observing the room she was in, jotting down notes in a notepad she would never be caught dead without.
It appeared to be an observatory, or perhaps a library. Two of the walls were covered end-to-end in bookcases that extended from the floor to the ceiling, filled shelf upon shelf to the brim with books, thick and thin. Tables and chairs were scattered throughout the room, small tables with classroom-fit chairs in the center and some larger, cushioned chairs closer to the shelves. The floor was covered in worn-down grayish carpeting.
Her eyes filled with an excited light. Being a journalist in training, this was a gold mine for great stories! Though, she was unsure how she'd get out of this place. Shrugging, she grabbed an armful of books - she was an avid reader besides a writer - and sat herself down in one of the larger, cushion-covered chairs. starting on the fist. It was a bit stiff, but comfortable enough. Maxwell Reichs was going to like it here.
Or so she thought.
~~ III ~~
"Uuuugh, what the hell..?" Penny McCoy found herself alone in a small room, appearing to be a bedroom. She ruffled her short, pixie-cut red hair - almost pink in color - with one hand, chewing on a toothpick and looking around with narrow, pale gold eyes. Her memory was groggy, nothing remembered before waking up in... wherever this was. The 19-year-old was sitting cross-legged on an elegant bed, the type with an intricate canopy hung at the top, flower-embroidered sheets covering the large mattress. Big, fluffed up, white pillows laid neatly at the head, leaning gently against the cedar headboard.
The room also included a dresser, and a closet connected to it. On the dresser was a few candlesticks, all candles lit with bright, small flames, and a mirror. Inside the closet clothes were visible, hanging neatly on hangers. A small nightstand stood next to the bed, another candlestick sitting upon the smooth wooden top. As soon as she slid off of the bed and stood up, all the flames on the candles grew rapidly in size, turning into a huge blaze. Flames crawled up the walls.
"You shouldn't be here." A voice shouted. Suddenly, as if another force was interfering, a frigid breeze blew the candles out, snickering accompanying it.
"Neither should you, so touche." It was a different voice. In pitch darkness, she looked around, terrified. Penny was afraid of the dark. And completely alone.