In the end, all we are left with is a torch, flickering and dancing, evading the force of the dark. Some have more fuel to burn than others, and some are like a match, snuffed out with the slightest breeze. People think that light is everywhere, and that the darkness is a thief, stealing the light each moment as the sun edges towards the endless horizon.

This is a common misconception in the world of man. Or perhaps a willing deceipt, man has always needed hope above all else, and so this myth exists. The truth is far more terrifying.

The darkness is always there, hovering on the boundaries of the light. It is the light which fights on in desperation, defying the way things are - embodying the human condition, fighting against the inevitable. Hopelessly outnumbered, a single torch will eventually fail, and the darkness will eventually rush in and fill the space up with an almost tangible evil.

In the end of all that is, light will finally be banished....the sun will implode, providing the only means to its destruction - because no matter how dark, or how evil something may be, it cannot consume the flame while it has fight remaining within itself - but the flame will consume its fuel, burning it up, wasting itself away. The torch, in the grand scheme of things, accomplishes nothing by its existence, is insignificant to the powers of the dark. Because the darkness can never die.

It 's always there

Waiting

It was a dark, overcast, night. Rain thindered down as the car slowed to a halt next to the mansion. In the car window, anyone passing would have seen the unmistakable yellow glow of an artificial light, and two men in uniforms talking to each other, anger visible in both faces.

Meanwhile, in the pantry, something falls of its own accord from a shelf and lands on the floor with a clunk.

Voices raised now in the car, anger building, swirling, spiralling out of control. Anyone looking closely will see a man in his late thirties, a beard covering his face, hiding his face from the world. Hiding hisSecrets from the world. His uniform is dissheveled, his badge is nicked in a dozen places, his shirt stained.

Next to him is a far younger man, with a shiny badge and a smooth face.

"Look, for the last time, I 'm sick of being called out here every fucking night by the old loony, she 's senile fer chrissakes"

"And for the last time, it 's part of our job! Ms.Cravitz has every right to be taken seriously, even if she is a little.... over-concerned..."

The older policeman let out a sharp laugh

"You mean nosy ! She 's always complaining about that goddam house, I mean according to surveillance, there 's not even anyone IN the house tonight ! Hasn 't been for days, kid, she 's loopy! Mad as a bleeding hatter! "

The young man smiled

Yes. It Has Been Too Long

"True, Bill, true, but wouldn 't you like to see whats in the house? They say no copper has ever even been in there! The lot of them are scared by spook stories and fairy tales spread by the local, and the neighbours! the 'loony' Cravitz you called her. C 'mon lets just go and see if we can get an answer, and if we can 't, we 're entitled to force entry and have a look around"

"Um.....Listen, kid, you 've got a lot to...."

"Whats the matter Sarge? Scared of old wives' tales?"

'Bill' reached out and threw the door open. Rain billowed inside the car, as he stalked towards the great house. He paused for a moment to look upwards.

The house seemed to go on forever, reaching up into the heavens.

He ran to the door, and paused again to wait for his companion, shivering in the cold.

"Jesus Christ Bill, I was just kidding you know ! No need to get all wound up at it"

Bill looked at him and saw himself reflected in the youths eyes. Fifteen years ago, he thought, was I the same type of cop? So incredibly naive? The kid thinks that old wives tales and myths are garbage - but everyone knows that at the heart of even the most preposterous tale lies the vein of a terrible truth.

He raised his hand boldly, telling himself that there was nothing to be afraid of, and brought it down heavily on the door. Rather than the dull thud he had expecting, the door creaked inwards on hinges which seemed to have not been oiled in many many years.

Yes. Come.

"uhhhh.....Sarge, maybe you where right, maybe we should just drive off and get something to eat"

"Ha! Where 's your sense of adventure kid? Wheres all your bravery? Afraid of old wives tales, are you? Some copper you are!"

He pressed himself slowly through the door.

And the darkness of the Basement lit up.

Mine

"Hello? Anybody here?" the seargent called into the house,

"This is the police! We 're here to investigate a complaint by one of your neighbours, loon....uhh...Edina Cravitz"

The two police looked at each other. It was pitch black in the House. As one, they fumbled, unseeing, for a light switch. With a click, the room was illuminated fully.

The room was completely empty. Wooden floorboards screeched underfoot as they made their way further into the house

"Ah christ, we 'll be here all night unless we split up. I 'll tell you what, you look around up here and I 'll go check out the basement. If you here me scream, go to the nearest store and get a clove of garlic and some silver bullets"

"Aha. ha. ha. Not funny, Sarge, not nearly funny. Right, I 'll meet you back here when we 're finished then."

John Laroca knew he was looked down on by his seargent because of his age and he hated it. He became a cop because he couldn 't think of anything better to do at the time. He was a naturally depressed person, as many people of his generation were, mainly because there wasn 't a whole load in life to be particularly happy about in his opinion. The one thing that made him smile was his wife Samantha and their 4 month old child, John Jr. He loved them more than anything. Suffice to say that he didn 't exactly come from a happy family background.

Yum. I Can Taste Their Secrets Already

No. We Will Not Allow It.

John walked around, switching the lights on in each room as he reached it. He was surprised to find that each and every room was completely empty. He was finished the ground floor quite quickly and found himself waiting at the door for his companion to rejoin him.

Come

He caught himself as he was walking towards the stairs and tried to remember what he was doing. Goddamit, he thought, this place is weird. But I 'm not gonna wait around all day for Sarge to finish looking around the basement. IfI go in there after him he 'll only stat insulting me again....may as well check out the attic.

Yes. Come to Us

He was standing in the attic, and he couldn 't believe what he was seeing. Light was flooding in through the windows, despite the darkness outside. The attic was filled with the most beautiful pieces of art and antiques he had ever seen. He made his way over to a particularly beautiful statuette, lifting it in his hands and letting a soft whistle of admiration escape his lips as he gazed at it with awe.....

Run

The statuette hit the ground and smashed into a thousand pieces. John was trembling - but it was warm in the attic. He could have sworn that statuette had spoken to him.

Get Away From This Place, John Laroca

He spun to face the speaker, drawing his gun from its holster by his side and aiming it straight at a 1938 original Strauss Painting.

"What..the..fuck.." he mumbled...

Run, John Laroca. For your wife, for your daughter, for your very SOUL.

He turned again, slowly, shaking with fear. Every painting, every statuette, EVERYTHING in the attic was around him in a semicircle....He starting firing without aim at the attics denizens, running towards the stairs down. They parted to let him through

John Laroca. You have been warned. Leave this place now, or forevermore suffer the consequences.

Do not look for William Dane, for he is already lost to us.

Willi.......they where talking about Bill! He raced back to ground floor and down the stairs towards the basement

"BILL! Bill! Where are you Sarge? We gotta get the fuck out of here NOW!"

Here

John looked towards where the voice was coming from. The furnace was lit, but it was not heating the room. He walked towards it, shaking.

"Bill?"

Here

John looked around the Furnace, looked behind the furnace. A torn bit of shirt was caught under a rock. As he reached for it, his hand grazed off the rock.

The Furnace went out suddenly and the Basement was plunged into darkness.

John heard things scuttling in the darkness, heard the screeches of the inhuman, the cries of Demons...

And then, a torch flared in the corner of the room

No. You Can Not Take Him. He Has Done Nothing.

Who are you to order us? He is ours, for he has entered out realm

You...Cannot. We Will Fight You. Without The Juris You Cannot Act

And then, a voice like the death-cries of six million Jews spoke from the darkness...

"Whoever said, attic-dwellers, that they are acting without a Juri?"

Pfaultz stood near to the torch. It 's light seemed to be devoured within him.

He raised a finger, slowly, deliberately, and pointed at John.

"Know, mortal, that when this torch is extinguished, you shall be mine."

Pfaultz took a step closer to the torch. It spluttered, fighting for life.

In the end, all we are left with is a torch, flickering and dancing, evading the force of the dark.

Very Well, Pfaultz. You may have this one.

Pfaultz reached forward and extinguished the torch with his hand.

And John Laroca screamed in the night.

Nobody heard.

An ending.