The Tormented

Slowly, by themselves, the lamps went out and the room was filled with flickering, ominous shadow. Even the air was hushed. It grew cold- a clammy coldness that held me in a vise. The room suddenly became alive with an icy wind. Each cold blast seemed to originate in the middle of the room and spread to the four walls. As the wind screamed I heard a shrill voice howl my name over and over again. As if in answer a glass vase lifted from a table and hurled itself toward the mantle and crashed.