The silence of the darkness blanketed the room. A brilliant fire cracked softly in the corner, careful not to awaken its hosts. The peaceful sound of night wafted in through open widows. Everything was still in their place, waiting for the morning sun to rejuvenate them once again.
Here, a family lay, lost in the world of their slumbers. It was the dead of night. No creature dared to make a sound. A cold breeze blew in through the crack in the stained window, rustling through stray locks of hair, bare threads of clothing, and through the dreams of the family. It was this wind, this unnatural, unforgiving blow of wind, that awoke Lucy Jackson from her sleep. She knew from this sign that something was wrong. She immediately shook awake her husband, John, until his eyes appeared through the darkness; looking at her with worry and confusion. "there's someone in the house," she said, barely treading a whisper. John raised an eyebrow and sighed, feeling doubt. But Lucy held his gaze with certainty, and he believed. Careful not to disturb the strong silence of night, he opened the hard wooden drawer of his dresser and pulled out a gleaming silver gun and held it delicately in his hands. Only the sound of wood against wood stood between the sweet silence and utter chaos. No words were meant to be spoken. Slowly, he passed the gun over into her soft and fragile hands. She nodded, she shook the fright from her own eyes. He touched her arm for a second, letting her faith flow into him. Then, taking his own gun, he stood with valor and began his trek. The household itself was huge. Letting his feet tap each stair without a sound, John made his way down the blackness of the stairway.
He stretched his arm outward, until it wrapped around the golden knob of the basement door. Sweat collected on his pale forehead.
The room seemed to darken even more, forbidding John to see any further. Out of the open cellar window, a bone chilling breeze hit him full force like a ton of bricks. Slowly, he fell onto his knees, and struggled to keep his head up. Though his eyes were half open, he could see the eire figure standing in front of his feet. He hastily felt around for his weapon, but it was nowhere to be found. John heard the gentle click of the gun before the last of his light left his watery eyes. Lucy heard the kaboom of the gun thinking John shot the mysterious Figure. She ran down the steps the basement forgetting there was a door there hitting against it. She heard the pitter- patter of a liquid draining from a body. John was there, but on the floor of the cold basement, dead. There, she could see a shimmering light, and nothing else. The light was getting closer to her as she ran away back to the door. She met face to face with the door but it wouldn't open. She had no time to try so she ran the other way of the noises. But whoever the mysterious light was new she would. He turned on the vacuum cleaner and made his way towards her. The stone expression engraved upon his face was one of pure evil. She knew her time wad running out, but her love for John was greater than the need for revenge. Lucy gathered her remaining courage and raced for the body of her husband. She held her tears as she collapsed to the cold cellar floor. She held his lifeless body, looking for one sign of life under the chill of his skin. Lucy followed the flow of his blood until it came to the four slash marks cutting across his throat. Inches from his grasping fingers was the faint glint of the silver gun. She hastily grabbed it and checked for ammunition. When she opened the cartridge, she expected at least some of the bullets to be loaded inside, but there were none. The future looked bleak, but she had to continue. Looking at her own gun, she noticed she had only three bullets left. Lucy wasn't about to let the evil take her as well. Not this time. She stood up, taking one last glance at John before turning around to await her desired fate. Lucy took a shaky step forward; interrupted by a sudden change in the temperature. For the first time, she noticed a thin layer of frost forming on the outside of the basement window. It was as if the frost itself was trying to form inside her, make her vulnerable against the evil that lurked deep in the depths of the house. Knowing the door wouldn't open to her command, fear began to creep into the back of her mind. Though a faithful woman at heart, the powers of evil were growing stronger and stringer against her will. The darkness was blinding; not a sound could be heard for miles on end. She closed her eyes and spoke softly in her mind, asking for the least bit of courage in the last moments of the battle between what's good and just and the wrong and evil that lay ahead of Lucy Jackson.
A sound, almost silent, rang through the still and open air around her. Startled, she raised the gun out on front of her, more tense than a tiger waiting for a pounce. The blank and erie silence returned to that old and battered basement. Only the sound of Lucy's strangled breath could be heard. Then, a pair of think boots scraped faintly across the floor, crescendoing more and more. Lucy saw the lurking figure and stifled a yelp. He stared at her from across the room; his blue eyes stung her body with sheer ice and pure hatred. It hurt to much she forced herself to look away. A deep, red gash streaked across his stricken face. The man held his gaze for a slight moment before turning towards an open door around the corner. Lucy lifted up the gun with arms stiff with adrenaline. On one swift motion, she pulled the trigger, the bullet whizzing through the air in a motion almost too slow for reality. The man smiled a devilish smile as he held his hand to face the bullets. Instantly, they fell to the ground, covered thick with icy snow. Lucy's eyes widened with understanding. She dropped the gun to the floor. It hit the hard ground with a loud and merciful clang; metal against stone. Lucy slowly cleared her throat and took a shaky step forward. "it- it's upstairs," she said in a whisper barely audible. But her opponent understood her clear as day. "What's upstairs?" he barked in a cracked voice. Lucy just stepped forward once more, the slightest turn of a smile on her lips. "What you're here for. You are looking for my diamond necklace, right? Surely that's what you're after, if you already went through all this trouble," she raised an eyebrow slyly as she saw his reaction settle in. "upstairs?" he repeated, now full of interest. Lucy just nodded and diverted her eyes to the bare walls around them. The man advanced towards her with his gun in hand, a flicker of trust flashing through his pale eyes. "Show me." he growled, pressing the gun at the middle of her forehead. She just stared him full in the face, not an ounce of fear among her. With one foot, she turned herself around in a swift motion, careful to keep her head high and her walking pace level. The man followed her without a sound, his feet moving silently behind hers up the stiff wooden stairs.
When they reached the hard face of the bedroom door, Lucy pulled herself to a steady halt, indicating that this was indeed where the treasure could be found. The man furrowed his brow and reached for the golden knob with eager hands. With a slight creak, the door opened, revealing the gentle darkness of what used to be the most peaceful area of the house. Lucy's eyes stared far off in sad thought of her loving husband. The man could no longer contain his patience as he waited for his expected riches. He walked past her and began rummaging through shelves and stacks, drawers and cabinets, the hunger for wealth overcoming him. Lucy regained her strength as she striped all the painful memories aside for the moment. She knew her time was running short. She ran over to her bedside without a sound, looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being followed. Sure enough, the man was still shuffling through crimson jewels and sapphire necklaces that were sprawled upon the top her dresser. Though her muscles refused to move any further, she lifted the heavy iron box from where it was tucked neatly into its spot at the bottom of the night table. Her hand flew to the necklace around her with cold fingers as she touched the smoothness of the grey key. Her hands steadily unclasped the necklace, and she silently slid the key into the hole, it fitting perfectly into its spot. Lucy drew a sharp breath as she opened the lid with a soft hiss, revealing what was inside. Everything from her life was in this box; every memory, every event, every single moment in history was here. Lucy could almost smell the damp earth from where she last opened the treasured box. She had just enough time to take out the object she was looking for and snap the box shut before the man turned around to face her. He had gotten what he had wanted, and now he was going to finish the job. His hand wrapped around the handle of the pistol that had already caused one death in the household. Knowing this was the end, Lucy used up the last of her enduring strength, throwing the object, a small red lighter, towards the tiny but faithful flickering blue and yellow flames of the comforting fire hearth that had kept the family going for as long as any of them could remember.
The crack of the merciless gun sounded seconds before the lighter touched the licking flames. The man started to run, but it was too late. Gasoline met fire, the whole world awaiting the outcome of this terrifying night.
Firemen from all across the city could tell you all sorts of stories of what they think happened that night at the Jackson residence. Only one could tell the story. Little James Jackson, asleep in his crib down in that cellar, locked away from all the harms of the world. It was because of the bravery of one mother and one father that three brave rescuers found a small and innocent baby lying amidst the smoke and fire caused by the explosion; a baby that to this day, lives happily ever after.