One stormy night

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The sudden, swift, severe summer storm caught me totally unaware. I was walking down Old tree Road when the clouds started to build. I looked around as I huddled under a large, dead oak tree. Almost all of the houses on this abandoned street were too badly damaged for me to take shelter in, except for the one.

The house loomed impressive and morbid in the greenish-black sky. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the house. The windows were broken, but the superstructure seemed to be in good condition.

I was becoming soaked as I pondered upon my dilemma. Whether to stay under the tree and risk getting hit by lightning or should I go into that old house, not knowing who or what might be in there. The storm instead decided for me. Lightning hit the tree, filling the air with the scent of scorched sap. I dashed onto the porch and pounded on the door. It was open.
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What was that? I thought my hearth in my mouth. I slowly turned around. I didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean that there couldn't be someone else in the house with me. It was a large house. I hesitated before I went into the living room. My lantern, my best friend at the moment, showed off ancient paintings of a red-haired man with angular features and a host of antiques. Over a marble fireplace, in the far side of the room, hung a silvered mirror with plump, little cherubs surrounding it.

Crash. I jumped and ...

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