The Real story

It was a long, bitter cold, night on a Sunday night. The cars, frozen from long under use, sat in the road, there interior stiff from the cold, hoping to be unthawed. As Geoffrey looked at his frozen vehicle he sighed thinking heed never get out of this frozen ghost city. As he looked about he noticed that even though it was dark yet still early there were no lights on. “Maybe a power outage” he said to him self, as the wind, bitter cold from the cold night air, picked up again. He started walking toward the nearest house, only a few feet away; he noticed the buildings, growning under the weight of the snow, sat still, unmoving in the still night air, the air cold as ice. He found it to be a bit eerie, too eerie as a matter of fact, so he quickened his pace. As he knocked on the door he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, he turned quickly only to see the snow, like pure heaven, was falling from the sky, muffling the buzz, an unearthly sound, from the lamp post, which lit up half the street. He returned to the door, he was being silly he thought there was know one out in this weather, curtsied weather that it was, he was the only living thing out here. But still he could not help but think that there was someone else there, waiting, watching and studying his every move. He did not know how right was.