A/N: Here we are off to a new story and believe me, this is one that has never been done. Please give it a chance and review. This disclaimer is for the entire story: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. All credit is given to Stephenie Meyer, Frank E. Pertti and Ted Dekker. This story is a crossover of Twilight and The House. The entire story will be written in third person.
He stood completely still in the entryway, staring down at his own shadow sprayed across the floorboard for a moment before looking up to study the array of dust. He ran a finger across the molding that bordered the room, bringing it up to his nose; the stench of rat urine. The rustling of the floorboards above brought his eyes up to the beams dropping down toward the center of the earth.
This room bore very few remnants of the events that had led to the dawn. From where he was standing, it was just one more abandoned house. Interesting.
But the rest of the house told the truth.
Beneath his heavy black boots, the floorboards lay shoulder to shoulder like they were burying the dead. Each one cupped with creeping moisture, the edges buckling, obscured by the bray dust and fallen flakes of paint.
Across the room in which he was standing, a movement caught his eye as the rose-printed wallpaper began to flutter. Something began to scratch and bite its way through. Eventually a little beady nose with the same eyes looked at him. Neither one at all concerned with the other's presence. The rat made its way through the wall and then scurried off along the baseboard.
At the far end of another room, a tattered curtain blew in the wind from the only broken window in the house. That was a pitiful attempt at an escape. Apparently, no one had been there in years.
But when some curious passerby – or the police for that matter, should they be so fortunate as to stumble upon this place – wandered from the beaten path, stepping even closer inside, they would find signs to the contrary. And those that dare to take the steps that lead them to the mysteries below would find even more signs in abundance.
Death lingered here in the musty air; even up here where he was standing, but even more so from down below. The walls were like shrouds, enfolding every space in exquisite darkness. It had been a perfect arena for a perfect game.
And already Barsidious White was looking forward to the next random passersby to step foot into this house and play his game. After all, the only way out was to go in.