Darkness is like the largest of oceans. Certainly, it can appear to be endless and deep. If you are drawn in, then the deeper you go the more difficult it is to find a way back out. Staying close to yet just beneath the surface ... it is difficult to breathe without aid despite air never being all that far away ... suffocation occurs with an end, your own end, so close you can feel it with that very same end being so very far away you may never reach it ... leaving you to experience unending excruciating pain ...

1.

A black '58 Chevrolet Impala drives down a darkened street briefly illuminating the house standing alone on the end near the edge of town before turning to the left and continuing on by. If the driver of the Impala only knew of the goings on inside that old Victorian house, then maybe he may not have come quite as close to it as he just did.

In his own way he has caught sight of his ocean and he is moving away from it narrowly escaping entry on this occasion though no matter how far away from it he gets it will just draw him right back. What it is that is going on inside ... well ... a shark is always home, and SHE is always hungry. No matter what comes, it is her own suffocation that never quite finds an end.

That large Victorian house standing alone has always appeared, to those who know no difference, to be so much darker than the rest of the surrounding area. The rusted metal gates at the bottom of the garden hang off their hinges and the left side squeaks ominously as it rocks slightly with a quickening cool evening breeze.

The un-kempt garden grows over and around furniture and other unwanted items which have just been left out in the open. Moss and weeds almost completely cover the uneven garden path, a path of multiple cold grey slabs of stone which extends with a slight curve going uphill from the gate right up to the front of the house, and for out of fear ... no one is willing to do anything about any of it.

With the windows boarded up and the white paint work peeling off the exterior, this place probably would be better off being completely knocked down rather than having any efforts made to restore it to its former glory if indeed any former glory had ever previously existed, not that restoration has ever or will ever be planned or attempted as again fear ensures that the house and its grounds remains as is.

Despite being dark and decrepit, it is not the woodwork or the brick and stone pillars which keeps the house standing, rather it is the anguish, pain and despair of the lost souls which have been claimed within that keeps it upright while also keeping so many officials away, preventing any opportunity for destruction or anything else from ever arising.

There inside she stands on the staircase, there inside she walks the halls, and there inside she moves from room to room. Her wails so often heard far and wide are without a doubt unnatural. Her footsteps echo within, pleas for mercy murmur, screams of pain squeal, sounds that for the most part keep outsiders outside though there is intrigue to know what exactly it is that goes on within this haunted place. A living soul, once inside, will never again see the light of day, all apart from one, that is, one who is soon set to make a return.

This large lone house at the towns end cannot truly be haunted, can it? Those sounds often heard aren't of anything actually happening, are they? Town's folk say the house is haunted for they know only too well that the sounds that emanate from within are very real as is the dark entity which resides inside. It is known, she is known, though town residents would rather appear oblivious than admit to knowing anything at all.

A haunted house on the hill or the haunted house at the end of the street sounds like many a tale told before though such a tale can keep many away though such a tale also bring visitation from those who hear of such a place and are looking for proof one way or another that the supernatural exists. She does not care if those who comes and whether or not they bring belief or skepticism with them. There is but one with whom she holds interest.

For some, they can't help but come, for some they just cannot resist. She decides who enters, she decides who pays and until now no one has ever left with their life intact and that is, as afore mentioned, if they get to leave at all.

The inner walls cry, oozing a dark red substance, the blood of many a lost soul, blood of many a man, for it is revenge she seeks, revenge she wants and revenge she will get, over and over again for all eternity or for at least until she gets exactly what it is she seeks.

Her victims are only ever male and there is a reason for this. Some say that her soul has returned from the great beyond not just wanting a sort of revenge or payback if you will, she returned to find the one, the man who ripped away her innocence, the man who tore away her soul, the man who took away her dreams and ended her life.

Finding him is not the task for she knows just exactly where it is that he is. She is with him; she is always with him though her power is not strong enough beyond the household walls for her to seek such revenge so far away from the building she dwells in.

Many men are drawn to this place one by one and are indeed drawn for reasons none of them can quite explain. They know they should stay away; they know they should not enter, but the impulse to come is too great, the impulse to go inside is even greater. She is there; she awaits, and she will continue to wait until he does come, if he ever does come. Until such time, and perhaps beyond, the torture will continue and one by one they all will fall, all indeed but one who had been allowed to turn.

Her long dark hair covers her pale white face. Her clothing is flimsy, dull, and grey. Her tall thin frame drags an old, long handled sledgehammer as she returns to her most recent victim. The approaching sound of the metal dragging along the wooden floor makes his heart quicken. His end is near, a painful end is near, he knows this and there is no escape.

His sobbing grows louder and begins to echo as the door to the room he is a prisoner within slowly creeks open. Light from the almost full and orange coloured moon peeks through gaps in the boarded-up window just feet away from where he is tied, helplessly to a wooden chair. Her movement into the room is eerie and freakishly erratic.

'Please ...' he begs.

The rotting walls shake as the door to this room slams shut.

'I don't deserve this ... I have done nothing wrong' he says struggling to breathe.

His right eye is swollen and bloodshot, blood trickles from his nostrils, his forehead bears a number a small cuts. Bruising is already beginning to show on his bare torso. She had been torturing him for some time prior to this moment, now she has returned to finish the job, she has returned to take another life.

'No ... no ... don't do this ... please ...' he fearfully calls out, squirming in anticipation, for she raises the sledgehammer high and beyond her right shoulder with both her hands.

The roaring screams echo throughout the house and on through the world outside as the hammer comes down hard on his bare left foot. No one will fully hear these screams, no one can fully understand these screams and there will be no rescue. She won't allow rescue.

The pain is too much, it is unbearable and with the struggle to breathe worsening the current victim soon passes out.

Being out cold, having passed out due to the pain, he does not and cannot hear the sound of a chainsaw start up. Like the sledgehammer before she too lifts this chainsaw high. The raising of the chainsaw is with the intent of dissecting what sits on front of her. This doesn't happen though for she becomes distracted. Someone else has come; someone new arrives, not arriving to be a saviour but arriving out from the same compulsion that has brought all the others.

That black '58 Chevrolet has returned. With its driver having come so close to the house not all that long ago, an intrigue in the building began to set in and the compulsion to go back soon took over, what it is or why it is that he is drawn back here is completely unknown to him. The compulsion to come back was one he could not resist. The dark ocean must be dived into.

As he gets out of the car she lets go of the chainsaw and vanishes. The chainsaw drops to the ground and begins to go quiet. He moves through the gap in the rusted metal gates which are still squeaking, the left side still rocking slightly in the breeze which is still flowing albeit a little stronger now than when he passed by a little while earlier.

He makes his way up the uneven garden path trying to avoid stepping on the moss and weeds. This proves to be quite a challenge as he is distracted by movement of garden rodents and by the darkened outdoor furniture. The house is unlocked so he makes his way ever so slightly inside.

'Hello' his voice echoes out.

Illumination is low with the evening being what it is and what illumination there presently is, is being provided by the moon being low, almost full, bright, and orange in colour. His cell phone provides additional light.

'Hello' he calls out again.

There is nothing but darkness in this old, abandoned house for that is all he can see at this point being where it is he is and he cannot help but wonder as to why he is in the position he comes to be in. As the gate outside continues to squeak and the wind continues to rustle, he is sure he can hear another sound. A brief murmur sounds from somewhere within the house, possibly from somewhere upstairs.

'Is there someone here?' he is compelled to ask out loud.

There is no reply.

Never prior to this point in time has someone new arrived before the previous arrival has met an end though obviously enough the new arrival has no idea of that, or of what it is that is in store for him. Cautiously, he begins to properly move further inside, and he makes his way over to a lengthy and winding wooden staircase. The air inside is stale. The smell hits him straight away, the stench of blood, the stench of death, the stench of something almost metallic in nature, the multitude of cobwebs clear and obvious despite the darkness, still the compulsion to continue is too great to ignore.

Each wooden staircase step creeks, some louder than others, he continues on slowly to the top using the light from his cell phone to help guide the way. Another murmur sounds and he turns quickly to the direction from which it comes. He moves across the upper level's wooden floorboards and down a hallway to a door on his left.

The door itself also creeks as he pushes it open. Inside he finds what it is that created the murmurs, a man, unconscious and strapped to a chair. Moving forward and right into the room he is caught off guard for the door to the room slams behind him causing the walls to shake. He turns quickly.

Light from the moon is not as strong as it had been only moments prior though the light from his phone is what aids him to catch sight of her standing right by the door. Gasping in shock he drops his phone and falls backwards and lands on his ass right by where the chainsaw rests.

She moves forward a couple of steps with movement and pace so unnatural he has never seen the likes of before, and with that she speaks two words.

'Find him.'

He has no idea what these words mean. Again, she speaks two words.

'Find him.'

In his mind's eye he sees images of a man and a woman, the man hits the woman, knocking her down.

Picking up his phone he manages to get back to his feet. The light from the phone shows that she is no longer standing in front of him, so he moves in the direction of the door. The man strapped to the chair awakes. The sledgehammer levitates high and with speed; he turns and sees the hammer make contact full on with that other man's face.

The sounds made just prior to and right at the moment the sledgehammer makes contact are sounds which won't easily be forgotten as too will the images left in its aftermath. No matter how he tries, once an exit has been made from that building, the contents of his stomach make an exit if its own.

Before the exit however and having backed up in shock into a corner between a wall and the door of the room he had come to be within, he struggles to find the door handle and when he does, he exits the room as quickly as he can and he doesn't hesitate to move across the hallway, down the stairs and out of the house. Soon, but not soon enough, e uses the mirrors on that black '58 Chevrolet Impala to watch the house fade as he drives off in the direction from which he originally came.

For a split second he is sure that she is sitting on the back seat of his car, directly behind him. The mirror within the car shows this to be true. He turns his head quickly and almost loses control of the vehicle. The car comes to a halt having turned, angling slightly and he is most definitely appears to be alone, there is no other soul living or otherwise in the Impala.

That old derelict Victorian house stands alone, and he can't help but see it and he can't help but take a moment to reflect on what the hell had just happened to him, for she is there and it is there where she waits.