Denny ran out of the trees and into the front yard as rivulets of water streamed down his face. The wind pounded rain into him as he squished across the grass. It was an unusual storm for the Puget Sound, more like what you'd see around Thanksgiving, not like what you see in April. As he ran, Denny looked towards the old gothic mansion, it looked like something out of a horror movie. It was out of place in the twenty first century, even in a back woods place like Manchester, Washington.
Denny burst through the heavy oak door and stepped into the house and dripped onto the slate floor of the entryway. He pulled his wet coat off and hung it on the pike held by the suit of armor that guarded the door. He removed his squishy shoes and socks and set them next to the heat register to dry.