.: Where the Wind Blows :.

RE: .: Where the Wind Blows :. {Psychological | Paranormal}

All that Conor was on the lookout for when his friends had asked him to sneak out with them for a night out and about was something akin to the experiences they had had together during previous ventures out past skeptical hours. Maybe some of them would engage in a slight bit of innocent debauchery only worthy of a low-level scolding from their parents should they be caught out past curfew and not much more, but that would be where the trouble would end. Never could he ever possibly fathom that, instead of that generally acceptable, relatively fun little adventure that he longed for every time he and his pals had all successfully engaged in it and dispersed thereafter, they would be ensnared by the cold bite of the winter season in the most gelid type of way. The closest he had ever been to feeling this kind of neo three-dog-night chill was during an odd incident at the local aquarium at around this same time of year nearly a decade back, though that was neither here nor there, so he swiftly dispersed the thought from his mind and returned to the scene at hand.

The town was completely sealed-up by the time the storm had struck, and for a myriad of equally as sensible reasons. There was no getting back in, and even if they had managed to get back in by begging and pleading for sanctuary, what would they be proving to themselves, then? No one would say it, but the generally shy, book-smart young man who was always observing the lot of them each time they were together knew that each and every one of them was scared-- oh, if only their common sense matched their brashness and sense of adventure! But, hey, they were practically adults. They had something to prove in their own naive way. They had to prove they had some kind of "moxie." They had to fulfill a sort of unwritten trope of teenagedom that even the "geek" Conor so nonchalantly slipped into when he got involved with this crowd, and though they were afraid, though he was sure that each and every one of them secretly wished more than anything to be back in their warm beds at home, he knew that it would be completely and utterly unacceptable to the utmost highest degree to even think of turning back now.

A small walk saw his group to the front of the mansion-- the one so often called out by his own family as "haunted," "full of devils," and "infested with a contagious case of the drive-you-crazies." His incredibly superstitious great-grandmother would claim it to be infested by all manner of manananggals and evil eyes even as far back as when she was his age, and even earlier than that. To say he was shaking out of his skin would be an understatement, and it wasn't even because of the insane ice storm pelting the lot of them with more snow than they could ever hope to shovel themselves out of should they remain in one place for too long. They simply had to find shelter, and the mansion was the only available much-sought-out answer to their desperate question.

Conor didn't think about it too much as the menacing black iron gates marking the entrance to the estate were swung wide-open by two of the stronger, more affable members of the group, instead trying to focus purely on the positive. They were going to be inside somewhere, and the house probably wasn't haunted anyway! The only thing that was too bad about it all was that those hopeful thoughts would last less than another minute. The moment they had actually taken a step inside of the mansion, a chill pervaded throughout his frail frame before forming into a great frog centered at the mid-portion of his throat.

Whatever was going to happen here was well beyond what he was capable of imagining and even further beyond his realm of control. All he knew was that, should the opportunity arise, he would need to overcome his menagerie of fears to make the best possible outcome of each situation... and that that would be far, far, far easier said than done.