On the back wall James noted the yellowing, water-stained and peeling wallpaper that appeared to have once contained a gold and white striped pattern, although now it looked brown and unappealing. Definitely creepy. Nevertheless, he forged ahead, and once at the upper landing he was quite surprised to find not a hallway lined with rooms but one large open area that more resembled an attic than an upstairs living area. The ceiling rafters and wall studs were all exposed, proving that for whatever reason the finish work was ended with the completion of the downstairs portion of the house. No curtains hung from the four dirty windows that, during the daytime, would allow ample but filtered light to stream in.

In spite of the ray of light from his hand which slowly traveled across the room, the area seemed considerably darker than it logically should have. On top of that, there was a greater sense of oppression that melded with the murky and musty smells to produce an air of discomfort in James that rose far above that he had experienced downstairs.

With great effort, he stepped onto the landing and gazed around, finding the room to be completely empty save for a single ancient television set in the far corner. It looked to be at least sixty years old, its dark brown wooden console boasting two knobs beneath the squared screen with convex sides whose darkened edges revealed its years of use. The lattice-work below the knobs wove a wooden crisscross pattern over the slightly golden cloth that protected the speaker hidden inside the case.

As this was the only piece of furniture in the room, interest was soon lost and James turned back to the staircase just as a peculiar noise erupted from behind. He swung around, amazed to find the television set now on and showing the usual snow that was indicative of a weak, or no, signal. Alarmed that this had happened seemingly by itself, James stood still with his heart racing. Oddly enough, he found himself wondering less how the set had turned itself on but more the reason for it having done so.

His wobbly legs inched him a couple uneven steps forward, his eyes glued to the snow-filled screen that resembled the inside of a black and white hive filled with millions of erratic bees. Abruptly, the sound came alive, and although it was not loud it was enough of a surprise to make James jump.

Raising a hand to his chest he realized that he was still holding the fruit basket, and with a deep breath and a nervous smile he turned to retrace his steps downstairs. The time had come to get the hell out of this oppressive place. He needed to go back to the comfort and safety of his own house and forget that this had happened.

Without even attempting to turn the set off James beat a hasty retreat to the staircase and had reached the first step when he was abruptly halted by a distinctive sound from across the room to his back. Turning, he stared in wonder at the television screen, now displaying a faint picture through the snow.

Selected text copyright 2010 by Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard