XII:XV

The ancient, hammered clock struck midnight in the hall, just inches away. The rain outside pounded against the windows, deftly rapping its morse code upon their smooth glass to no soul apparent to the listless, restless night. A sliver of light, dancing to and fro, escaped from beneath the door of the bedroom down the hall, no doubt the flame from mothers candle being frisked angrily about by currents of air thrown through a crevice by the fiercely blowing wind. Just beyond the edge of the stair, where hungry shadows awaited to devour the remaining light and anyone foolish enough to step within its boundaries, a sound eddied from the world below and just as quickly as it had begun its heavenly decent it was hushed by manner unseen (or unheard.) A whispered, perhaps an imagined, hungry sound. With a mighty force that must have sent the rain sideways and tree limbs swaying with fury, the wind seemed to push its weight with an even heavier might so much so that the dying, dancing flame of mothers candle was doused all at once, the light retreating from whence it came, leaving the shadows a finish to their meal; first the stairs and now the landing and anyone foolish enough to remain standing on its seemingly safe and sane quarters. Darkness, robbed of light from moon, stars or other heavenly or earthly illumination, settled itself over the whole of the place, as the clock struck twelve-fifteen.