"That niggling feeling" ~ for the Mood-Y # 5 Challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Though Halloween has passed, today is Samhain and significant in the Celtic calendar. It is the time when the veil between the world of the living and the dead is at its thinnest... it is from Samhain that Halloween has its origins.

Challenge: Mood-Y # 5

Prompt: spooked

Title: “That niggling feeling”

Author: mrua7

Word Count: Approx. 1,100
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We in the light sometimes fear what is no more to be feared than the things children in the dark hold in terror and imagine will come true.~ Titus Lucretius Carus.

   

Napoleon Solo, like his Russian partner, was a man who remained cool and calm under the most dire of circumstances. Together or alone they faced death and destruction all too often, but today was a...different circumstance.

Today it was nothing but a retrieval at a dead drop; a milk run as the American liked to call it. It was simple assignment for a change and as they reached the end of the little traveled dirt road in their silver convertible, Solo pulled to a slow stop; studying their new surroundings.

Until now the drive had been a surprisingly pleasant one with the trees bursting forth in their vivid fall foliage of red, yellow and orange hues, only dotted here and there by the eternal blue-green of Douglas firs.

But now the agents found themselves surrounded by trees that seemed more dullish, with some looking almost skeletal in appearance as they were bereft of their leaves. It was if they’d passed into a different world

Amidst this was the dark and hulking structure of an abandoned house which was Solo and Kuryakins destination; its architectural style undefinable. The singular feature of the ediface being, that it was startling decrepit, and that was an putting it mildly.

A chill wind blew, swirling dried leaves to give chase around their feet as they stepped from the car, heading towards a flight of leaf covered stairs hewn from stone.

“This is where our dead drop is located?” Illya broke the silence.

“Hey I didn’t make the arrangements,” Napoleon answered as they found their way to the front door.

Once inside, the interior of the house took on muted shades of blue and grey in the diminished light as the partners slowly continued the exploration of their surroundings.

“Why do I suddenly feel...uncomfortable?” Illya asked as his eyes nervously darted everywhere. He was on edge and he didn’t hesitate to tell his partner as he drew his weapon. “There is something odd about this place, but I cannot quite put my finger on it. I feel threatened.”

Napoleon knew Illya was not given to flights of fancy, and followed suit, unholstering his Special as well.

“The drop is upstairs,” he indicated while they moved through an empty parlour to a larger foyer where they spotted the needed staircase.

A strong gust of wind forced a moan from the walls, and loose floorboards creaked their protest beneath their feet as the two men continued to slowly walk forward.

They both stopped, staring at the staircase covered in a piece of red carpet; it, somehow in the diminished light it looked like a wide swath of blood cascading downwards.

“I will admit it, I am officially spoofed,” Illya said.

“That’s spooked tovarisch,” Solo corrected him. “And yeah, I know what you mean. Let’s get upstairs and find what we need post haste.”

“My friend, for once I am in complete agreement with you,” Illya gingerly climbed the stairs as if he would be enveloped by the red beneath his feet, leading the way ahead of his partner.

He and Napoleon located a room, and Illya peeked around the doorframe, spotting what they sought; a lone red chair bathed in sunbeams shining down through a circular window in the wall.

                          

The Russian took a knife from his pocket, and kneeling in front of the chair, he cut an X into the fabric of the seat and withdrew a small packet containing the information they’d come for.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Napoleon muttered, not letting on that his usual calm had abandoned him, leaving him with an uncomfortable niggling feeling in its place. Every shadow in every corner seemed to move, though his training made him dismiss it as an optical illusion.

They quickly trotted down the stairs, found their way out the door and at last to the safety of their car;  Solo slipping behind the steering wheel, inserted and turned the ignition key.

The powerful roar of the engine was comforting as it gave them assurance of escape from this inexplicably strange setting.

The house’s façade belied, perhaps, its once grand appearance, but the agents had no desire to explore it any more than they had deemed necessary. No, not today...or ever. Curiosity had been known to kill the cat.

Solo hit the gas pedal, sending a hail of dirt and gravel into the air as the car took off at high speed up the road and back to the more pastoral setting.

It was then Napoleon spoke.

“Illya what did you feel back in that house?”

“Odd, I suppose like we were being watched.”

“That’s the same impression I had, though we both know there wasn’t a soul there. I could have sworn someone was watching me, practically boring a hole in the back of my neck. It really made my skin crawl.

“It must have been the shadows and run down conditions of the place that unsettled us and nothing more,” Illya shrugged it off.

“I don’t know about that,” Napoleon said. “They say that old houses have souls; perhaps that’s what we were perceiving in our subconscious or maybe it was a ghost,” he nervously chuckled, still experiencing a residual pang of uneasiness.

The Russian, on the other hand, was back to feeling more like his pragmatic self.

“Oh do not be ridiculous. Houses do not have souls or ghosts for that matter,” Illya countered. “There was no one, or nothing watching us and it was simply our imaginations getting the better of us. The mind is a powerful thing. May I remind you, are we not always a bit paranoid in our business?”

“The mind is in its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven,” Napoleon suddenly quoted Milton.

“And I will counter that with Euripides my friend,”Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish.”

“I wasn’t calling you foolish Illya, and please don’t call me a fool either. It’s just sometimes there’s things that pragmatism and science, for that matter,  can’t explain.”

“My apologies, I meant no insult. I will  give you that much in regards to your rebuttal,” Kuryakin half-smiled as he settled back against the headrest, quickly falling asleep as usual.

“Kids and dogs,” Solo muttered.

Illya opened one eye. “I heard that…”

                  

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Cool! Now one question, did you see the ghost in the very last picture? Believe it or not, I didn't see it when I first found the pic and wrote the story. It wasn't until after I cut and past it in that I saw it... Now how's that for spooky.

Thanks for catching up and commenting!

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I did see the ghost, and she's quite scary, lol

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thanks, wanted to make sure she wasn't missed. The pic worked out even better for the story than I first thought...mwaaa haa haas.