Screams rang across the yard as metal rasped on metal. A twenty odd assortment of men and women were hammering away at a pair of solid iron doors, belonging to what appeared to be a fortified mansion. The windows were a series of iron bars criss-crossing each other, with enough electricity running through them to knock out a bull elephant. The walls that marked the perimeter of the yard were covered with barbed wire, that too was electrified and it's surfaces had been painted over to remove or hide any handholds or footholds. Doors were reinforced with strips of iron metal. Anti-personnel mines were scattered and hidden across the yard. The only place that seemed to be untouched by this paranoia was the roof and chimney. However, the roof was actually one of the most reinforced areas and if one were to attempt entering via the chimney, they would find it ended only in a sealed, iron spike-filled bottom.
In any case it was obvious someone didn't want anyone inside.
The men and women that continued their relentless attempt at forcing their way in KNEW that there was SOMETHING in there. They SMELLED it, a scent that seemed to override their minds with bloodlust. A few bodies lay close by, some whom too weak to continue this, some who apparently failed to climb the wall and some simply dead. One BODY, if that was what one could call it, lay in several pieces, and only a idiot wouldn't be able to link it to the fresh blood that stained the clothes and skin of the mob. However, whoever somehow made it past the walls, the electric wiring, the hidden landmines scattered in the yard, one would find that in the backyard was a little shed which was too, covered by reinforcing strips of metal and more. It's door was of pure iron, and it's only window was one made of several layers of mesh wire, that only allowed air to enter and escape, but no one could see what was inside. Past these, within the shed one would find a blackened floor with a lingering stench of blood and ashes. In fact, some charred remains lay scattered on the floor. Such things speak of something mental, something evil, and something very, very much less than human.
*
The said occupant of the building was at the moment in a whitewashed and barren room, reclined in the only furniture in there - a chair grafted from stone - in a peaceful slumber. The room however, echoed memories of hate, pain and despair, lingering on as the testament of the dark history the building had seen. The THING in the chair slept on, lost in dreams of what was more than just dreams. Then, the shouts from the outside seemed to cease. Silence hovered over for a moment. Then the shouts began again, with renewed enthusiasm, accompanied by jeers and shrieks of laughter one would hear from the mentally unsound. The noises began to fade away again. That's when something out there let a piercing cry for help.
The thing in the chair stirred.
For the first time in days, HE moved.
*
Llednar fled as soon as he saw them. He dropped his pack and began to run for his life, for the mob of... 'things' had noticed him. He couldn't remember why he was afraid of them initially. That was until one of them howled like a wolf in his pack hunting down a deer. Some ran cackling madly, some wielding homemade weapons or knives and even one or two of them ran on all fours, making the whole group look like the possessed. One of them overtook her kind and stabbed shrieking that 'he' was mine. Llednar continued, curving round a corner. Then like something out of a bad movie, he found himself at a dead end. He turned, only to find them already at the entrance. Surrounded by walls on three sides, and approaching death in front of him, he backed up against the wall. He cursed and drew his pistol. As he attempted to load it, a shadow fell over him and he looked up.
All he could do was scream as his death swooped down upon him.