aged ballroom leaving the lock warped and unusable . The left side of the door landed against the wall , held up only by its bottom hinge - reminding me of an inebriated partygoer on New Year ’ s Eve .
Only two of the several dozen vintage sconces had been lit along the pillared shell-pink walls , making the chamber as dim as a cloudy winter night . But to my keen eyes , the entire room was laid out clearly before me . Cautiously , I prowled across the ruby and jet inlaid floor , the cream marble reflecting the long heavy burgundy curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows . I had seen those curtains hanging in a dozen other houses of blood and death , and this was just another den of decay . The den of a fiend I had come to hunt . After all , this house – which was well kept but overly aged - lay on the outskirts of a small suburb in upstate New York , away from prying eyes and nosy humans . But it was just another façade , used to hide the beast which dwelt within - hunting and killing at his leisure and whim .
Halfway down the length of the long ballroom , a single ornate wooden chair stood in the center of the floor . A metallic acrid smell floated indistinctly on the air as I drew near ; the scent of blood soaked into the wood a faint bouquet , like coals burned over to ash in a blacksmith ’ s forge . Drawing even with it , I noticed the muted scarlet pool beneath . Mentally focusing my senses for any sign or sound of movement , I reached down to place a single finger in the blood . It was ice cold and as sticky as honey . It had been days since it flowed from a warm body . Delicately I waved my hand under my nose , smelling its aroma . The subtle hint of the body it once was held within scenting the air around me like an old penny freshly cleaned .
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