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Quite poor, I was just bored.
The derelict old house swayed and creaked in the light evening breeze, as I stood there before it, staring at its protruding towers, pointed at their peaks. Stone gargoyles guarded the house at regular intervals around the roof, staring at you almost as if they had life in them. Ivy cluttered the front of the house, un-cared for and because of that, sticking out in all directions, like someone’s hair on a windy day. Before the big, rotten wooded double doors, stood two towering stone pillars, decorated with snakes weaved around them. On the front door, a knocker made of shiny brass, not so shiny now, after obvious years of neglect.
Max stepped forth onto the gravel driveway, windily leading up to the mysterious old house. The house stood alone, about a mile off the road with fir trees lining the edge of the driveway. No car tracks were visible, whether this was because of the dark, or because the house was never visited, Max didn’t know. He proceeded on up the track, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, glancing from side to side. He had been taught this at ‘Police School’, prevents someone sneaking up on you from either side.
As he neared the front door, he wondered what the best way in would be. There was always the possibility that there could be a member of the gang in there, possibly more than one. Max sure didn’t want them to know of his arrival, so he surveyed his options. The door would be too obvious; ringing the bell was about as good as signing his own death warrant. He could walk round and look for an open lower level window; but surely they would all be locked.
One thing he did know was that he didn’t want to be seen. He crept round the side of the house, peering through windows, making very sure to keep in the shadows, and to keep as silent as possible. Max was amazed by the sheer size of the house, which seemed to extend for eternity into the increasing blackness of the night. Contradictory to this thought, he came to the back of the house, and peered around the corner. A set of French windows opened out into the vast garden, with a set of steps leading up onto a stone platform, enclosed with railings.
Max warily slipped around the corner, making sure not to make a sound, still gripping his gun. He crept up the steps and placed his hand on the cold metal door handle, gently pulling it down, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sure enough, the handle slipped down, and the door fell inwards, with Max pushing it slowly until there was just enough of a gap for him to squeeze his toned body through.
The door closed quietly behind Max and he stepped forth into what looked like an overgrown jungle. Overgrown pot plants surrounded him, leaving him standing with plants enclosing him into a small area. He crouched down and proceeded to crawl through the undergrowth of this artificially jungle, attempting to disturb as few leaves and branches as possible, so as not to alert anyone who might be around of his presence.
He got into the doorway and peered out into a long, rectangular room, with a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Doors led off the dark, dreary hallway, but Max was looking for a staircase, he knew where the drugs were, he had been tipped off, that was why he was here. The staircase was tucked away on the left, obscured from his vision by a pillar going to the ceiling. He snuck round the wall, plastered in old, dust covered paintings of old men on horseback.
He stepped onto the bottom stair….
‘Creeeeaaakkkkkk’
Max jumped back into the shadows, if someone was around they were sure to have heard that. Sure enough, a man appeared at the top of the stairs, his outline bulky. Max could only see his outline, due to the darkness but he didn’t like the look of the man who stood before him. He had broad shoulders, obvious muscular arms, with the unmistakable shadow of a gun in his hand.
‘Who’s there?’ a gruff voice called into the dark.
Max gulped and pressed himself against the wall, he had no cover except for the dark, and even that wouldn’t be sufficient if the figure came any closer. The man emerged from the darkness at the top of the stairway and stepped into a beam of moonlight coming in through a window above the front door, facing the stairs.
The man continued his walk, down the stairs with his arms stretched out, holding his gun tentatively. He reached the bottom of the stairs and the step upon which Max had alerted him to his presence. The step routinely made its creaking noise, just as it had moments earlier for Max.
Max overbalanced and his foot shuffled slightly to the left. A crunching noise sounded from where Max had placed his boot, causing the man to spin and aim his gun right at Max;
‘Up, hands above your head,’ he ordered and jerked his gun in an upward position.
Max picked up the piece of glass that he had crushed, and dropped it in his pocket as clambered to his feet, raising his hands up into the air.
‘Drop your gun,’ the man ordered again.
Max threw his gun towards the figure, who bent down to pick it up, still keeping his gun aimed at Max’s chest. He pocketed the gun and walked over to Max. He roughly grabbed his arm and led him towards the stairs, which they duly climbed with Max in front of the man, and the man’s gun in his back. He was led into another dimly lit room, where there was just enough light for Max to see three more men sitting round the table playing cards, each with a cigarette attributing fumes to the already dusty air.
‘G’rid of him,’ one of them grunted, obviously annoyed that his card game had been interrupted.
No sooner had it been said, had Max been hit hard over the head with the butt of the gun, belonging to the man who had found him.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair. His arms were clasped behind his back with a thick rope, and each of his legs was bound to the corresponding leg of the chair. He was not guarded; obviously the men presumed he could not get out of his binding to the chair. The room was small, and empty with a single window on the wall. Had it been daytime, the light would have given him a better view of the room, but as it was, the room was pitch black and Max could see nothing.
However, this was what Max had been expecting, almost hoping for…
He rocked back on his chair, and sure enough, the small piece of glass dropped out of his pocket and onto the floor. He rocked his chair forward, softening the blow with his knees, so that he was face down on the floor, then rolled it over so he lay on his side. With his hands, still behind his back, he picked up the piece of glass with one hand and started sawing away at the rope.
It took a while, but Max managed to free his hands, before wriggling his chair back into an upright position. He leant forward and un-tied his feet from the wooden chair legs. He stood up from the chair and peered out of the circular window. The night was now pitch black, and Max wondered how long he had been out for.
He stepped back from the window and to the door, locked, as he had expected. Nothing else inhabited the room except for the chair to which he had been tied, and the pieces of rope that had bound him to that chair. Max saw only one way out, and that was through the small window.
He picked up the chair and took it over to the window, where he placed it on all fours below the rotting sill. He stepped up onto the chair and once again, looked out into the dark, of what he presumed to be, the early hours of the morning. He lifted the catch of the window and pushed the window away from the frame. Like everything else in the house, it sounded a creak, but it wasn’t loud enough to go noticed through the house Max decided.
He clambered out onto the slanted roof and closed the window behind him, slowly so as not to cause another noise. He slid carefully and slowly down the slated roof to where one of the gargoyles stood strong. He assessed his situation, he was too far off the ground to jump, as he would surely break something, however, other than that he could see no other way down.
Bang
A bullet flew just past Max’s shoulder and hit the gargoyle to which he was clinging. Out of instinct Max threw himself off the building, hitting the ground a second later with a firm thud.
‘All that for nothing,’ he thought as he slipped out of this world, and into the next.
Alec
The derelict old house swayed and creaked in the light evening breeze, as I stood there before it, staring at its protruding towers, pointed at their peaks. Stone gargoyles guarded the house at regular intervals around the roof, staring at you almost as if they had life in them. Ivy cluttered the front of the house, un-cared for and because of that, sticking out in all directions, like someone’s hair on a windy day. Before the big, rotten wooded double doors, stood two towering stone pillars, decorated with snakes weaved around them. On the front door, a knocker made of shiny brass, not so shiny now, after obvious years of neglect.
Max stepped forth onto the gravel driveway, windily leading up to the mysterious old house. The house stood alone, about a mile off the road with fir trees lining the edge of the driveway. No car tracks were visible, whether this was because of the dark, or because the house was never visited, Max didn’t know. He proceeded on up the track, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, glancing from side to side. He had been taught this at ‘Police School’, prevents someone sneaking up on you from either side.
As he neared the front door, he wondered what the best way in would be. There was always the possibility that there could be a member of the gang in there, possibly more than one. Max sure didn’t want them to know of his arrival, so he surveyed his options. The door would be too obvious; ringing the bell was about as good as signing his own death warrant. He could walk round and look for an open lower level window; but surely they would all be locked.
One thing he did know was that he didn’t want to be seen. He crept round the side of the house, peering through windows, making very sure to keep in the shadows, and to keep as silent as possible. Max was amazed by the sheer size of the house, which seemed to extend for eternity into the increasing blackness of the night. Contradictory to this thought, he came to the back of the house, and peered around the corner. A set of French windows opened out into the vast garden, with a set of steps leading up onto a stone platform, enclosed with railings.
Max warily slipped around the corner, making sure not to make a sound, still gripping his gun. He crept up the steps and placed his hand on the cold metal door handle, gently pulling it down, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sure enough, the handle slipped down, and the door fell inwards, with Max pushing it slowly until there was just enough of a gap for him to squeeze his toned body through.
The door closed quietly behind Max and he stepped forth into what looked like an overgrown jungle. Overgrown pot plants surrounded him, leaving him standing with plants enclosing him into a small area. He crouched down and proceeded to crawl through the undergrowth of this artificially jungle, attempting to disturb as few leaves and branches as possible, so as not to alert anyone who might be around of his presence.
He got into the doorway and peered out into a long, rectangular room, with a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Doors led off the dark, dreary hallway, but Max was looking for a staircase, he knew where the drugs were, he had been tipped off, that was why he was here. The staircase was tucked away on the left, obscured from his vision by a pillar going to the ceiling. He snuck round the wall, plastered in old, dust covered paintings of old men on horseback.
He stepped onto the bottom stair….
‘Creeeeaaakkkkkk’
Max jumped back into the shadows, if someone was around they were sure to have heard that. Sure enough, a man appeared at the top of the stairs, his outline bulky. Max could only see his outline, due to the darkness but he didn’t like the look of the man who stood before him. He had broad shoulders, obvious muscular arms, with the unmistakable shadow of a gun in his hand.
‘Who’s there?’ a gruff voice called into the dark.
Max gulped and pressed himself against the wall, he had no cover except for the dark, and even that wouldn’t be sufficient if the figure came any closer. The man emerged from the darkness at the top of the stairway and stepped into a beam of moonlight coming in through a window above the front door, facing the stairs.
The man continued his walk, down the stairs with his arms stretched out, holding his gun tentatively. He reached the bottom of the stairs and the step upon which Max had alerted him to his presence. The step routinely made its creaking noise, just as it had moments earlier for Max.
Max overbalanced and his foot shuffled slightly to the left. A crunching noise sounded from where Max had placed his boot, causing the man to spin and aim his gun right at Max;
‘Up, hands above your head,’ he ordered and jerked his gun in an upward position.
Max picked up the piece of glass that he had crushed, and dropped it in his pocket as clambered to his feet, raising his hands up into the air.
‘Drop your gun,’ the man ordered again.
Max threw his gun towards the figure, who bent down to pick it up, still keeping his gun aimed at Max’s chest. He pocketed the gun and walked over to Max. He roughly grabbed his arm and led him towards the stairs, which they duly climbed with Max in front of the man, and the man’s gun in his back. He was led into another dimly lit room, where there was just enough light for Max to see three more men sitting round the table playing cards, each with a cigarette attributing fumes to the already dusty air.
‘G’rid of him,’ one of them grunted, obviously annoyed that his card game had been interrupted.
No sooner had it been said, had Max been hit hard over the head with the butt of the gun, belonging to the man who had found him.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair. His arms were clasped behind his back with a thick rope, and each of his legs was bound to the corresponding leg of the chair. He was not guarded; obviously the men presumed he could not get out of his binding to the chair. The room was small, and empty with a single window on the wall. Had it been daytime, the light would have given him a better view of the room, but as it was, the room was pitch black and Max could see nothing.
However, this was what Max had been expecting, almost hoping for…
He rocked back on his chair, and sure enough, the small piece of glass dropped out of his pocket and onto the floor. He rocked his chair forward, softening the blow with his knees, so that he was face down on the floor, then rolled it over so he lay on his side. With his hands, still behind his back, he picked up the piece of glass with one hand and started sawing away at the rope.
It took a while, but Max managed to free his hands, before wriggling his chair back into an upright position. He leant forward and un-tied his feet from the wooden chair legs. He stood up from the chair and peered out of the circular window. The night was now pitch black, and Max wondered how long he had been out for.
He stepped back from the window and to the door, locked, as he had expected. Nothing else inhabited the room except for the chair to which he had been tied, and the pieces of rope that had bound him to that chair. Max saw only one way out, and that was through the small window.
He picked up the chair and took it over to the window, where he placed it on all fours below the rotting sill. He stepped up onto the chair and once again, looked out into the dark, of what he presumed to be, the early hours of the morning. He lifted the catch of the window and pushed the window away from the frame. Like everything else in the house, it sounded a creak, but it wasn’t loud enough to go noticed through the house Max decided.
He clambered out onto the slanted roof and closed the window behind him, slowly so as not to cause another noise. He slid carefully and slowly down the slated roof to where one of the gargoyles stood strong. He assessed his situation, he was too far off the ground to jump, as he would surely break something, however, other than that he could see no other way down.
Bang
A bullet flew just past Max’s shoulder and hit the gargoyle to which he was clinging. Out of instinct Max threw himself off the building, hitting the ground a second later with a firm thud.
‘All that for nothing,’ he thought as he slipped out of this world, and into the next.
Alec
Ta.
Some short stories are written so the reader isn't meant to know much, leaves them kinda mystified.
Some short stories are written so the reader isn't meant to know much, leaves them kinda mystified.
I've always thought that short stories were about telling a complete story and having as much happen as possible, if you cut it to a couple of scenes then you only know whats happening and cant get into it, it was well written regardless, and the start was like a proper book
Quite poor, I was just bored.
The derelict old house swayed and creaked in the light evening breeze, as I stood there before it, staring at its protruding towers, pointed at their peaks. Stone gargoyles guarded the house at regular intervals around the roof, staring at you almost as if they had life in them. Ivy cluttered the front of the house, un-cared for and because of that, sticking out in all directions, like someone’s hair on a windy day. Before the big, rotten wooded double doors, stood two towering stone pillars, decorated with snakes weaved around them. On the front door, a knocker made of shiny brass, not so shiny now, after obvious years of neglect.
Max stepped forth onto the gravel driveway, windily leading up to the mysterious old house. The house stood alone, about a mile off the road with fir trees lining the edge of the driveway. No car tracks were visible, whether this was because of the dark, or because the house was never visited, Max didn’t know. He proceeded on up the track, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, glancing from side to side. He had been taught this at ‘Police School’, prevents someone sneaking up on you from either side.
As he neared the front door, he wondered what the best way in would be. There was always the possibility that there could be a member of the gang in there, possibly more than one. Max sure didn’t want them to know of his arrival, so he surveyed his options. The door would be too obvious; ringing the bell was about as good as signing his own death warrant. He could walk round and look for an open lower level window; but surely they would all be locked.
One thing he did know was that he didn’t want to be seen. He crept round the side of the house, peering through windows, making very sure to keep in the shadows, and to keep as silent as possible. Max was amazed by the sheer size of the house, which seemed to extend for eternity into the increasing blackness of the night. Contradictory to this thought, he came to the back of the house, and peered around the corner. A set of French windows opened out into the vast garden, with a set of steps leading up onto a stone platform, enclosed with railings.
Max warily slipped around the corner, making sure not to make a sound, still gripping his gun. He crept up the steps and placed his hand on the cold metal door handle, gently pulling it down, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sure enough, the handle slipped down, and the door fell inwards, with Max pushing it slowly until there was just enough of a gap for him to squeeze his toned body through.
The door closed quietly behind Max and he stepped forth into what looked like an overgrown jungle. Overgrown pot plants surrounded him, leaving him standing with plants enclosing him into a small area. He crouched down and proceeded to crawl through the undergrowth of this artificially jungle, attempting to disturb as few leaves and branches as possible, so as not to alert anyone who might be around of his presence.
He got into the doorway and peered out into a long, rectangular room, with a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Doors led off the dark, dreary hallway, but Max was looking for a staircase, he knew where the drugs were, he had been tipped off, that was why he was here. The staircase was tucked away on the left, obscured from his vision by a pillar going to the ceiling. He snuck round the wall, plastered in old, dust covered paintings of old men on horseback.
He stepped onto the bottom stair….
‘Creeeeaaakkkkkk’
Max jumped back into the shadows, if someone was around they were sure to have heard that. Sure enough, a man appeared at the top of the stairs, his outline bulky. Max could only see his outline, due to the darkness but he didn’t like the look of the man who stood before him. He had broad shoulders, obvious muscular arms, with the unmistakable shadow of a gun in his hand.
‘Who’s there?’ a gruff voice called into the dark.
Max gulped and pressed himself against the wall, he had no cover except for the dark, and even that wouldn’t be sufficient if the figure came any closer. The man emerged from the darkness at the top of the stairway and stepped into a beam of moonlight coming in through a window above the front door, facing the stairs.
The man continued his walk, down the stairs with his arms stretched out, holding his gun tentatively. He reached the bottom of the stairs and the step upon which Max had alerted him to his presence. The step routinely made its creaking noise, just as it had moments earlier for Max.
Max overbalanced and his foot shuffled slightly to the left. A crunching noise sounded from where Max had placed his boot, causing the man to spin and aim his gun right at Max;
‘Up, hands above your head,’ he ordered and jerked his gun in an upward position.
Max picked up the piece of glass that he had crushed, and dropped it in his pocket as clambered to his feet, raising his hands up into the air.
‘Drop your gun,’ the man ordered again.
Max threw his gun towards the figure, who bent down to pick it up, still keeping his gun aimed at Max’s chest. He pocketed the gun and walked over to Max. He roughly grabbed his arm and led him towards the stairs, which they duly climbed with Max in front of the man, and the man’s gun in his back. He was led into another dimly lit room, where there was just enough light for Max to see three more men sitting round the table playing cards, each with a cigarette attributing fumes to the already dusty air.
‘G’rid of him,’ one of them grunted, obviously annoyed that his card game had been interrupted.
No sooner had it been said, had Max been hit hard over the head with the butt of the gun, belonging to the man who had found him.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair. His arms were clasped behind his back with a thick rope, and each of his legs was bound to the corresponding leg of the chair. He was not guarded; obviously the men presumed he could not get out of his binding to the chair. The room was small, and empty with a single window on the wall. Had it been daytime, the light would have given him a better view of the room, but as it was, the room was pitch black and Max could see nothing.
However, this was what Max had been expecting, almost hoping for…
He rocked back on his chair, and sure enough, the small piece of glass dropped out of his pocket and onto the floor. He rocked his chair forward, softening the blow with his knees, so that he was face down on the floor, then rolled it over so he lay on his side. With his hands, still behind his back, he picked up the piece of glass with one hand and started sawing away at the rope.
It took a while, but Max managed to free his hands, before wriggling his chair back into an upright position. He leant forward and un-tied his feet from the wooden chair legs. He stood up from the chair and peered out of the circular window. The night was now pitch black, and Max wondered how long he had been out for.
He stepped back from the window and to the door, locked, as he had expected. Nothing else inhabited the room except for the chair to which he had been tied, and the pieces of rope that had bound him to that chair. Max saw only one way out, and that was through the small window.
He picked up the chair and took it over to the window, where he placed it on all fours below the rotting sill. He stepped up onto the chair and once again, looked out into the dark, of what he presumed to be, the early hours of the morning. He lifted the catch of the window and pushed the window away from the frame. Like everything else in the house, it sounded a creak, but it wasn’t loud enough to go noticed through the house Max decided.
He clambered out onto the slanted roof and closed the window behind him, slowly so as not to cause another noise. He slid carefully and slowly down the slated roof to where one of the gargoyles stood strong. He assessed his situation, he was too far off the ground to jump, as he would surely break something, however, other than that he could see no other way down.
Bang
A bullet flew just past Max’s shoulder and hit the gargoyle to which he was clinging. Out of instinct Max threw himself off the building, hitting the ground a second later with a firm thud.
‘All that for nothing,’ he thought as he slipped out of this world, and into the next.
Alec
The derelict old house swayed and creaked in the light evening breeze, as I stood there before it, staring at its protruding towers, pointed at their peaks. Stone gargoyles guarded the house at regular intervals around the roof, staring at you almost as if they had life in them. Ivy cluttered the front of the house, un-cared for and because of that, sticking out in all directions, like someone’s hair on a windy day. Before the big, rotten wooded double doors, stood two towering stone pillars, decorated with snakes weaved around them. On the front door, a knocker made of shiny brass, not so shiny now, after obvious years of neglect.
Max stepped forth onto the gravel driveway, windily leading up to the mysterious old house. The house stood alone, about a mile off the road with fir trees lining the edge of the driveway. No car tracks were visible, whether this was because of the dark, or because the house was never visited, Max didn’t know. He proceeded on up the track, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, glancing from side to side. He had been taught this at ‘Police School’, prevents someone sneaking up on you from either side.
As he neared the front door, he wondered what the best way in would be. There was always the possibility that there could be a member of the gang in there, possibly more than one. Max sure didn’t want them to know of his arrival, so he surveyed his options. The door would be too obvious; ringing the bell was about as good as signing his own death warrant. He could walk round and look for an open lower level window; but surely they would all be locked.
One thing he did know was that he didn’t want to be seen. He crept round the side of the house, peering through windows, making very sure to keep in the shadows, and to keep as silent as possible. Max was amazed by the sheer size of the house, which seemed to extend for eternity into the increasing blackness of the night. Contradictory to this thought, he came to the back of the house, and peered around the corner. A set of French windows opened out into the vast garden, with a set of steps leading up onto a stone platform, enclosed with railings.
Max warily slipped around the corner, making sure not to make a sound, still gripping his gun. He crept up the steps and placed his hand on the cold metal door handle, gently pulling it down, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sure enough, the handle slipped down, and the door fell inwards, with Max pushing it slowly until there was just enough of a gap for him to squeeze his toned body through.
The door closed quietly behind Max and he stepped forth into what looked like an overgrown jungle. Overgrown pot plants surrounded him, leaving him standing with plants enclosing him into a small area. He crouched down and proceeded to crawl through the undergrowth of this artificially jungle, attempting to disturb as few leaves and branches as possible, so as not to alert anyone who might be around of his presence.
He got into the doorway and peered out into a long, rectangular room, with a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Doors led off the dark, dreary hallway, but Max was looking for a staircase, he knew where the drugs were, he had been tipped off, that was why he was here. The staircase was tucked away on the left, obscured from his vision by a pillar going to the ceiling. He snuck round the wall, plastered in old, dust covered paintings of old men on horseback.
He stepped onto the bottom stair….
‘Creeeeaaakkkkkk’
Max jumped back into the shadows, if someone was around they were sure to have heard that. Sure enough, a man appeared at the top of the stairs, his outline bulky. Max could only see his outline, due to the darkness but he didn’t like the look of the man who stood before him. He had broad shoulders, obvious muscular arms, with the unmistakable shadow of a gun in his hand.
‘Who’s there?’ a gruff voice called into the dark.
Max gulped and pressed himself against the wall, he had no cover except for the dark, and even that wouldn’t be sufficient if the figure came any closer. The man emerged from the darkness at the top of the stairway and stepped into a beam of moonlight coming in through a window above the front door, facing the stairs.
The man continued his walk, down the stairs with his arms stretched out, holding his gun tentatively. He reached the bottom of the stairs and the step upon which Max had alerted him to his presence. The step routinely made its creaking noise, just as it had moments earlier for Max.
Max overbalanced and his foot shuffled slightly to the left. A crunching noise sounded from where Max had placed his boot, causing the man to spin and aim his gun right at Max;
‘Up, hands above your head,’ he ordered and jerked his gun in an upward position.
Max picked up the piece of glass that he had crushed, and dropped it in his pocket as clambered to his feet, raising his hands up into the air.
‘Drop your gun,’ the man ordered again.
Max threw his gun towards the figure, who bent down to pick it up, still keeping his gun aimed at Max’s chest. He pocketed the gun and walked over to Max. He roughly grabbed his arm and led him towards the stairs, which they duly climbed with Max in front of the man, and the man’s gun in his back. He was led into another dimly lit room, where there was just enough light for Max to see three more men sitting round the table playing cards, each with a cigarette attributing fumes to the already dusty air.
‘G’rid of him,’ one of them grunted, obviously annoyed that his card game had been interrupted.
No sooner had it been said, had Max been hit hard over the head with the butt of the gun, belonging to the man who had found him.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair. His arms were clasped behind his back with a thick rope, and each of his legs was bound to the corresponding leg of the chair. He was not guarded; obviously the men presumed he could not get out of his binding to the chair. The room was small, and empty with a single window on the wall. Had it been daytime, the light would have given him a better view of the room, but as it was, the room was pitch black and Max could see nothing.
However, this was what Max had been expecting, almost hoping for…
He rocked back on his chair, and sure enough, the small piece of glass dropped out of his pocket and onto the floor. He rocked his chair forward, softening the blow with his knees, so that he was face down on the floor, then rolled it over so he lay on his side. With his hands, still behind his back, he picked up the piece of glass with one hand and started sawing away at the rope.
It took a while, but Max managed to free his hands, before wriggling his chair back into an upright position. He leant forward and un-tied his feet from the wooden chair legs. He stood up from the chair and peered out of the circular window. The night was now pitch black, and Max wondered how long he had been out for.
He stepped back from the window and to the door, locked, as he had expected. Nothing else inhabited the room except for the chair to which he had been tied, and the pieces of rope that had bound him to that chair. Max saw only one way out, and that was through the small window.
He picked up the chair and took it over to the window, where he placed it on all fours below the rotting sill. He stepped up onto the chair and once again, looked out into the dark, of what he presumed to be, the early hours of the morning. He lifted the catch of the window and pushed the window away from the frame. Like everything else in the house, it sounded a creak, but it wasn’t loud enough to go noticed through the house Max decided.
He clambered out onto the slanted roof and closed the window behind him, slowly so as not to cause another noise. He slid carefully and slowly down the slated roof to where one of the gargoyles stood strong. He assessed his situation, he was too far off the ground to jump, as he would surely break something, however, other than that he could see no other way down.
Bang
A bullet flew just past Max’s shoulder and hit the gargoyle to which he was clinging. Out of instinct Max threw himself off the building, hitting the ground a second later with a firm thud.
‘All that for nothing,’ he thought as he slipped out of this world, and into the next.
Alec