Essay About A Short Story

That night, I tucked myself in under the white covers of the spacious king bed. I awoke later in the evening to hear a thump coming from upstairs. I snuck out of bed, careful not to wake John. I crept upstairs, the wooden floorboards rocking beneath my feet. Pushing the door ajar, I peered through to see what was there. I pushed the door open completely, searching for a cause of the noise.

“His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that while he sat helplessly musing he had also been writing, as though by automatic action. And it was no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously over the smooth paper, printing in large neat capitals

A few days later, after sealing the letter and hiding in between my mattress and spring box, Alfred told me to pack for an important meeting. I tucked the letter for Vlad into a small pocket of the suitcase before tossing it into the trunk. The next morning, Alfred woke up earlier than usual and told me to get ready. I thought he told me the flight was at 11 am., why are we getting ready at five o’ clock? I took a quick shower and dressed for the Spring weather outside, carrying an extra coat for the blistering cold of Russia. I double-checked my room for anything I would need such as a toothbrush or shampoo bottle.

Standing atop the stairs, "I am getting to old for this." He told himself, dreading the forty-eight stairs down to the evidence room. Brennan pushed the heavy door open, to find his old partner behind the desk, peering at him over the top of his glasses. He chuckled as Brennan breathlessly, slumped over the counter. "Good morning Dave, what can I do for you?" "Good morning Bob." He replied "I need to sign out the evidence in Susan 's case, the creep is threatening to pay her another visit. I need to get this scum bag behind bars, where he belongs." Having retrieved the evidence from the shelf, Bob reluctantly hands the small box over to Dave. "Hey ole buddy, we have been through this, nothing has changed, there is nothing of evidentiary value in this box." Brennan, now holding the tiny box in his hands, still mesmerized, by what little evidence the case had to offer, turned to leave without saying a word.

He was now left alone in a familiar territory. All around the house, white sheets covered many artifacts that once entertained an audience. The house had a slight smoky odour, which tickled his nose. Although he tried to stay quiet, each step he took the floor creaked in response, probably due to the renovations the house was under.

The escalation of the unknown sounds grew to be too distressing for John and Margaret when one night they were jarred awake by an unseen force. They felt the floorboards moving beneath their feet, along with unknown knocking sounds. The noises persisted until they finally fell asleep from exhaustion. Fatigued from these disturbances, they woke the next morning wanting answers.

Of course I was the only teacher that was in the building at this time. “Who else would be here on a Friday afternoon?” I thought to myself. Upon entering the room there was an eerie sense that ran through my skin. It felt as though I was not alone in the room, so I toured the entire classroom looking for clues. When I approached my co-worker’s desk, I noticed a package lying beside it. Far from a normal package, this was some type of metal box with rounded edges and a circular bulge protruding from the center on all six sides.“Maybe this fell off of the desk, I guess that concludes what the noise come from.” Something seemed off to me about this particular package though, almost like it was out of place. I misjudged the weight of this box as I picked it up, as it was a rather large box. However, the object inside the box was as light as a feather. “Now, how do I plan to open this box,” I said aloud, knowing but still unsure that someone was not in the room alongside me. The box suddenly opened as I was feeling around on it, and the metal seemed to fold out into one flat sheet. On this sheet was a pencil, not an average pencil as a mind would imagine, but a pencil. It was white, with blue lines seemingly flowing through it changing patterns every so often. I noticed a sheet of paper under this pencil, and what was written on it was astonishing to me. “What seems to be unreal to you is clear to me. Your mind is frantic, As anyone’s mind should be. Go ahead, pick it up. It will lead you to generations far ahead of your present day. But you must figure out how it works, or the secret this item contains will be concealed for eternity.” Those words played in my mind over and over until finally I decided it was time to leave. Only now the metal sheet the pencil and note were on had disappeared. Allowing little time for thinking, I grabbed my things from my

There was more than a touch of unpleasantness contained within that safe. Across the room, however, was my real arsenal: a two-tiered bookcase made of pressed particleboard that I'd picked up at a garage sale for five dollars. Crammed in it and disguised by a simple holographic misrepresentation which caused the volumes on the shelves to appear as a complete run of the Ace Science Fiction Specials from the 1960s, was in fact such a collection of ancient tomes of mind- blasting lore as to give the cognoscenti of such things many sleepless nights: The Book of Eibon, Cultes des Goules, De Vermis Mysteriis, The Eltdown Shards, The People of the Monolith, The Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, and the dreaded Al-azif itself, know also as the Necronomicon. Should the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse show up, even wearing Armani and Kevlar while driving SUVs and brandishing Russian assault rifles, I was ready for them. While finishing the assemblage of the gun, I glanced up long enough to make sure that whoever had entered a little less than four minutes ago wasn't, say, a Mi-Go intent on booking me for a missing-persons case--with me as the star. I'd registered earlier the sound of my client--or so I hoped-- standing and moving desultorily about the outer office. There being no indication of impatience in the light steps, I merely raised my gaze, intending nothing more than a cursory glance and a word or two of reassurance before completing my work. Instead I stared, motionless, like a hare transfixed by the glittering gaze of a

“What in the…” My words drifted when I saw the only file on the office desk. The file was laying open, with all of the information still in it. Collin

Thuck. Thuck. Thuck. A resounding series of knocks echoed from behind the white, paneled door. I emerged from the gap between my bed and the wall. Tears pricked at my eyes and I frantically wiped them from my face as my feet shuffled across the shag carpet. The door emitted a gentle creak and swung open.

“I can get them sent here right away.” Agent Fox pushed a series of buttons and a keyboard showed up in midair made up of a series of lights. Agent Fox types in the keys and clicks on the first link and a series of pictures float around the room. I am quick to realize it is my dad’s office and am horrified by what it looks like. The first picture I see is his trash can filled to the brim with jet black ash, smoke marks streak the side of the once polished metal desk. The next photo shows his lamp broken, with the shards of glass coating the floor, with blood mixed in some of the pieces.

When he walked into the building and got up the elevator he noticed, again, just how much design and detail there was. On the left and right of the room were stairs that lead up into some offices. Above the elevators is a golden sculpture of a police badge in front of some officers. If you keep going straight, there is another room with many desks and computers with

It did not exactly hurt her in the way it might for another, it made curiosity coarse through her veins. She looked between Mr. Linden, moving toward her with cautious movements as one might do with a frightened animal and back down to the sleek cover of the book. There was not a speck of dust on the book, a large difference to the others in the room as if it had been cleaned each day. Her thoughts began to roll like thunder in her mind, the loudest screaming a chorus of ‘why?’.

With an exasperated sigh, I slowly bent down and retrieved the scattered files one by one, checking to make sure all the paper was in order. A slow ache crept into the centre of my chest as I recognized my father's writing; the graceful curve of each letter, compared to my harsh boxy scribbles, had always

I have about 15 more minutes. The instruction manual made that clear. I finally find the door and throw it open to blackness. Toes smashing into glass, hips banging against wood, but palm is craving metal. Come on, I know it’s here. Fingers rifle through brain that has never felt this hollow, cobwebbed filing cabinet. Left? Right? I know it is hanging from the ceiling. I’m turning around for a flashlight when the cord dangles right into my hand. “Aha!” I can’t help but shout as I yank the metal loop. My eyes instantly squeeze closed as the fluorescent shine pools through the narrow room.