Dana is a 21st Century woman who doesn't think in terms of carriages, chaperons, or calling cards. Then, one night during an electrical storm, she tumbles into her favorite historical romance novel. When she awakens, she finds a world full of images that are not real, a foreboding old mansion filled with magic tricks, and a dark, tortured paper hero who lives alone. Is he real, or is he a ghost?
He comes to her as a spirit, his voice whispering soft, enticing accents in her ear. His presence is a seductive wind,-a mist that fondles her. He wants to capture her, hold her close,-have her always to love. But how can he when he is no more than a figment of someone's imagination?
Is there no way out for Dana? Will these lovers be imprisoned forever between the pages of this book, or will the closing of the last page rip them apart?
A man stood there, almost as insubstantial as the late night gloom surrounding him. She saw the steely glitter of his eyes coming from within a deep shadow draping his head and shoulders like a shroud. When he spoke, his words were slow, his chilling rasp out of place anywhere -- except in her nightmares.
“May I help you?” the man asked, a scowl creasing his face as his gaze raked over her from head to toe.
“I-I’m looking -- Her words faltered as the dark figure suddenly separated from the low-hanging shadow. With a trembling hand pressing her mouth, she quickly muffled a gasp. What little light there was exposed merciless lines of age carved into his face. His thin mouth lay in a dry, snake-like twist, his cold, glittering eyes surrounded by a web of wrinkles, giving him a constant scowl. He was dressed all in black, the gray pallor of his face, similar to some bloodless creature she’d seen all too often in horror movies.
She recoiled from the sight of this gray, death-like individual, her trembling voice reduced to little more than a whisper. “-- for a phone. The bat --” Her words were stopped by what looked like human teeth marks on his ear being partially hidden by a fringe of long, greasy gray hair. “The batteries are dead,” she continued hesitantly, showing him her cell phone. “I wonder if --” Her gaze shifted and she looked past him, the heavy silence and dim lighting inside reminding her of a funeral parlor. “-- if I could use the telephone. I had an accident. My car is in a ... well, sort of a ... it’s difficult to explain. A lightning…” While trying to find the words, her gaze happened to drift up to his face, which was full of frowning uncertainty, as if he were trying to understand a foreign language. She finally gave up, and sighed heavily. “Maybe I should talk to -- well, whoever owns this place.”
“I am afraid the Master is not receiving at the present time. He is in mourning. Since you do seem to be in something of a fix, perhaps I can be of some assistance.” He stepped back. “Would you like to come in?”
The moment she made a hesitant step across the threshold, something happened. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was. A change of some kind seemed to have taken place in the atmosphere. It seemed close, confining, sort of a prim, stiff, genteel kind of feeling.
She looked around at the combination of red walls, dark shining wood, and red carpet covering each step of the wide, formal staircase. It was as if she’d stepped into a different century. Oil lamps were used instead of electric lights, and some strange odor hung in the air, reminding her of her grandmother’s old house.
The elusive fear that had only nudged her before now burst into full bloom, and she turned quickly to leave. To her surprise, the old man she presumed to be a butler was just closing the door. She had gotten only a glimpse of the outside, but gone were the rain, the trees, and the vacant road, and in their place was a street that resembled a foggy night in old England.
The house was surrounded by a tall spiked fence, there were old lamp posts that cast circles of golden light along the curbs, and she could see a noisy, wobbling carriage as it slowly made its way along a wet cobblestone street.
My God, what’s going on?
She lunged for the door and tried to open it. When it wouldn’t budge, she turned to the butler. “The door, it seems to be stuck. I think I ...”
The man looked at her with worried eyes. “Are you all right?”
She nodded slightly, but she knew she wasn’t all right at all. She couldn’t seem to think. Her mind was muddled, confused. Turning away from the door slowly, she looked up at the strange décor that told her she had somehow landed in a different century.
The room had a kind of hellish elegance -- so many leaping flames from so many fireplaces. There were cold spots -- hot spots -- God-awful heat. Hadn’t these people heard of central heat and air? Electric lights? All at once, the scene before her began to undulate, and her eyes closed. She pressed her hand against her head, trying to fight the dizziness -- a dizziness that sent the garish room to spinning. The red color ran together while the fire in the fireplace stretched making the room resemble a flame-ridden cave. Reaching out for something to hold on to, she shook her head, her mind full of black snakes that coiled and stretched until they obliterated reality. Finally, everything went black, and her weak body crumpled to the floor.
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