Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

Home / Uncategorized /

#gallery-25 {
margin: auto;
}
#gallery-25 .gallery-item {
float: left;
margin-top: 10px;
text-align: center;
width: 33%;
}
#gallery-25 img {
border: 2px solid #cfcfcf;
}
#gallery-25 .gallery-caption {
margin-left: 0;
}
/* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Simon stepped up the dirt-encased stairs briefly noting the filthy walls. Judging from the mailboxes, as least twelve tiny units were in the building. Despite this fact, it was pin-drop silent and Simon could hear the grime grinding beneath his feet as he mounted each step to the third floor. Unit 312 was at the end of the hall. He looked over his shoulder while passing other doors and listened for any sound at all from inside. Nothing. He briefly thought he was walking toward his own funeral and he swiped away that thought as he would cobwebs, it still sticking eagerly to his mind in long, frustrating whisps. He didn’t have time for fear. He just had to do, even if each step of this felt more like he was approaching darkness. This was risk, he told himself. Something alien to him. He thought about Kaily’s laugh then, and for a moment his thoughts went into cloud break with his daughter as the sun. Simon arrived at 312, grasped the door knob, turned and stepped in after the door swung wide, raking the carpet.download full film Annabelle: Creation 2017

There was a bloodstain in the middle of the floor, very wide and dark brown. The sight of it made his knees shake and Simon braced himself against the wall. It was obvious that whatever he was in the middle of was sinister, the voice on the phone was enough to keep blood only slightly above ice water temperature. But this was the first real evidence of any type of foul play, and Simon wanted to run. There was risk and then there was foolhardiness. At the moment, his inexperience was blurring the line and yet still he walked into the apartment, stepping around the stain on the light gray carpet. The money kept his fear in check and the dice rolling in this game.

The living room was dark, the blinds of the single window tightly drawn and allowing in light as if it were an escaped convict. It felt cold there despite the stuffiness of the place, and he wondered briefly about ghosts. Whoever bled out on that carpet had died here. Maybe he was stepping through the lingering spirit of the dead. Simon shivered. (To be continued…)

To see what's what in the world of Santo

>> <<