This is a prologue to a story I am starting..... it's not completely edited to perfection, but I don't think that day will ever come....
The lone grandfather clock stood solemnly in the foyer on the ground floor. As both hands on its face aligned the grandfather let out a loud clanging tune, which echoed throughout the many halls of the enormous house. The only occupant to hear it was the houses owner, who was slowly making his way down a dimly lit hallway on the second story. As the noise echoed down the hall and reached his ears, he couldn’t help but smile, for it brought many pleasant memories forefront in his mind.
A tear slid down his wrinkled face and set a dark spot onto his silken robe. His smile faded as he continued down the hall towards the stairwell. He passed a table and let his hand trail over the top of it, letting the oil soak into the crevices in his fingers. He brought his fingers up to his nose, and inhaled deeply, letting the smell saturate his mind. A faint smile glinted across his face once more, before he heard a creak in the floor beneath him. Another tear slipped down his cheek.
“Don’t forget me,” he whispered in the silence.
A low rumble came from pipes behind the wall, and he let the noise echo down the passage.
“I know it will be hard,” he whispered. “But my time has come, and I must go.”
He was answered by a hollow thumping sound within the wall to his right, which filled the silence for several seconds before he placed his hand on the wall.
“Don’t worry,” he said, as the thumps slowed, “it will all be alright, I have faith in him. He is clever. Although he lacks wisdom.”
The sound behind the wall finally faded away all together.
He continued down the hall until he reached the stairwell. He grasped the railing and continued his journey down the steps. The stairs squeaked in protest with each step he took, and as he got closer to the bottom, the door to the right of the staircase opened slightly.
“Lou,” surprise gripped his face for although he didn’t see her, he knew it was her, “what are you doing up?”
“The house is making noises,” she peeped from the darkness, “and I was thirsty.”
A soft smile shone on his face.
“Water may not be the best thing,” he replied, gingerly, “or you will wet the bed.”
“Yes sir,” and with that the door closed, and he made his way to the landing.
Just then the door opened once more.
“Mr. Falcon?” the same voice broke the darkness, quieter.
“Why is the house so sad?”
Do not worry my dear all will be set right. Now go back to bed, you have an early start in the morning.”
“Good night, pleasant dreams.”
She closed the door once more and he walked into the foyer. The clock had finished its 12th tole, and he took to winding it tight. As his echoing footsteps faded into the darkness the only sound that could be heard was the hollow ticking of the hallowed clock before him.
“Good night,” he whispered.
He let another tear leak from his gray eye as he entered his ill-lit room and laid himself on the large king bed, and closed his eyes for the last time.