Mike was alone now. It was getting late so he left his friends behind and headed home. Mike felt comfortable alone. He felt stronger as an individual rather than a collective being. If he were to lead an army into battle, chances are that the possibilities for failure would be dramatically high. However, if he were to lead himself into battle, with the equal strengths of a large army, he would most likely constitute victory.

Mike calmly walked down an unfamiliar road. He knew nothing of the residential area he trekked, but by his knowledge, he was headed in the proper direction of home. It was like any other street with houses, trees, sidewalks, and lights. His short, dark brown hair swayed restlessly in the silent winds and his greenish-blue eyes pierced into the endless darkness in hopes to spot something familiar to him.

After a short while he began to descend into an almost deserted area of the road. No sidewalks, light, or even houses lined the road as it led up to some large steel gates. The night sky was hauntingly quiet with a faint rustling of papers fluttering in the distance.

Cautiously approaching the entrance to the unknown, Mike peered in to see what lay beyond the blockade. Alas, nothing could be seen but large bushes and trees that ran parallel to the old, dusty roadway.

Mike pondered about the current situation. Either he could turn back and find a new route, forcing him to return home much later than expected, or he could innocently cut through the property and be on his way. His thoughts were blind as he failed to consider any possible consequences that would arise from venturing into such strange territory. He proceeded to push on the gates.

As initially expected, they were locked. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and rested his head on the gates. He was going to be late again. All of a sudden, a violent chill swept through him. His hands, still clenched to the gates, began to sting as they grew cold. Very cold. They became so cold in such a short amount of time that they felt as though they were burning. Mike pulled his hands away from the gates and looked down at them. The pain had quickly subsided and his hands looked as though they were untouched. As a result, Mike simply considered the event as a rare "confusion of the nerves" and shrugged it off as though nothing had happened.

Mike started to turn around but something compelled him to stop. The lock on the gates snapped open and the steel archway slowly drifted apart.

Mike was unable to conjure any thoughts as he stared down the newly opened pathway. Consequence, danger, whatever lurked beyond was oblivious to him as he was literally pulled down the path to the great house that lay concealed by old trees and bushes.

The house was an old Victorian style mansion. Its wooden panels were being eaten away by time with the absence of maintenance, and the excessively long blades of grass made it clearly evident that the house had been uninhabited for quite some time.

Mike composed himself and surveyed the area. The night still failed to utter a whisper of noise. Nothing stirred about but the trees and bushes as they languidly swayed as the silent breeze passed through them. Mike stared at the behemoth that stood before him, engulfed in awe.

"Just like some silly little ghost movie." Mike snickered. "Pathetic stories for children."

Suddenly, Mike went for the door, an unknown force once again drawing him forward and clouding his mind. He grabbed for the handle but the ancient bindings broke loose and the door crashed to the ground. Mike heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing. He was paralysed. Something was controlling him.

The darkness that possessed him subsided and his senses began to return. His fear, however, was strangely absent from such a supernatural equation. By now, in any natural instance, Mike would have been sweating bullets and running for an exit. Something wanted him here. Something did not want him to run.

Mike began to inspect the area, hoping to find some clue as to where he was. The room was dark and musty. Layers of dust littered everything as it all lay in order, exactly how the last resident had left them. Whoever lived here last never bothered - or had time - to pack up and leave.

The room was decorated with a brilliant chandelier, dangling innocently from the ceiling. Several portraits lined the walls, most likely pictures of the man who last lived within these walls. Oddly, they were only of him and no one else. He must have been a lonely man.

Mike walked along a faded red carpet that led up the large staircase in the center of the room and made his way into another large room. It was another nicely decorated room with many forms of war memorabilia. Guns, grenades, knives, uniforms, and medals were displayed in cases along the walls. Unlike any other room in the house, it was well tended to and looked as though it was still being maintained daily.

In the centre of the room lay a large book that caught Mike's eye. Lined with gold and displaying the name "Thirelle" in an almost archaic scripture, it was hard to resist taking a look at it.

It was a journal owned by a man known as Captain Victor Thirelle, a World War II veteran. Mike opened the book and began to read. No entries were dated.

-So begins the first day of the experiment. The war rages on and I am confined to my house to keep the secrets of the experiment safe. Surprisingly, my wounds from Normandy are completely gone. They must have brought me back after I passed out. I must protect the secrets.

-I am learning more of the experiment. What a weapon this could be! I am able to manipulate objects in ways unimaginable. A deadly weapon, should the Nazis get a hold of it.

-I was compelled to leave to aid in the battles that must still be raging on. Alas, somehow I am trapped here. There is no way out. They must be quite serious for keeping me safe and placed up some kind of field that I am unable to pass. No matter. I must protect the experiment. The secrets must be safe.

-A man has arrived. He is not one I know. A spy he must be. A man of German origin, most likely. They have found me. I must dispose of him as I've been ordered for such circumstances.

-Another man has arrived. How long ago did they send the last? I cannot tell. I have lost all recognition of time. I shall follow through with my orders once again.

-Yet another spy. The Nazis grow restless. They have sent a child. They must know of the great secrets. Still a spy. The secrets must be safe.

-Time draws at the speed of a sloth. I feel as though I've been here for an eternity, yet I have not aged a day. So odd things are these days. Perhaps the experiment affects time as well. A simple side effect.

Several more entries littered the journal, all about the arrival of people described to be spies. Mike slammed the book shut and regained control over his senses, movements, and unfortunately, his fears. He recognized the name Thirelle. He was a Captain who led one of the many raids during D-Day.

"Thirelle." Mike pondered, "One of the lesser known Captains who took part in one of the bloodiest battles of D-Day. But Thirelle never made it back from the beaches."

The silence was broken as a large shudder of force rushed through the house. Mike needed to get out immediately.

He ran down the stairs toward the entrance but it was closed and back on its hinges. Mike approached the door but was halted by a noise that fervently approached.

Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap Tap. Tap Tap Tap. Tap Tap Tap. Closer and closer it came. It was no time for standing around so Mike charged at the door. It was locked and all attempts to break it down failed. The fear began to blaze through Mike's veins and the sweat began to flow.

"Spy." The halls echoed. All the drawers began to shake, the chandelier began to rattle, and the floor felt as though it was crumbling. "The secrets must be safe."

"This isn't right!" Mike yelled, trying a couple more times before turning and facing the halls and their endless vortex of darkness. "There is no experiment! There never was! You are dead, Lord Thirelle! This isn't even happening."

Mike dropped to the ground and clasped his hands over his ears, trying once again to recompose himself. Flames began to coat the walls and Mike began to sweat profusely. Now there was definitely no way out. In a desperate panic he tried the door again, only to fail and have his skin seared by the dancing firestorm. The windows crackled as they filled with concrete. All ways were completely blocked. The blazing inferno began to consume Mike.

After a few short moments, the flames faded away and the windows opened up again. Mike was nowhere to be found. The journal that lay on the floor opened and some writing began to form in it.

-A spy has come, a spy has gone. Nazis, Nazis, Nazis. Restless, Restless, Restless. Fire and Flame a most elegant choice for disposal. The experiment shall win us the war. The secret is still safe.

The house stood silent in the whispering night.

No more fire or flame scattered about the house.

Room by room the restoration took place.

The book rested on it pedestal in the centre of the large room.

The door fastened on its rusted hinges, to be broken again.

The gates locked with cold chill.

The house stood silent, waiting for its next victim.

The secrets must be safe.