It was near midnight when a black figure showed up on him doorsteps. The figure barely could lift a slim pale hand to the brass knocker before she collapsed as if she were made out of jello. A boy about 16 had just stuck half of his slim, practically starved body, out of his window when he heard a small moan of pain. He paused, his foot in midair, body half out the window. He glanced at the black pile of who knows what on the doorstep.
The moonlight was poised right on the greasy hair of the teen, his nose looking longer than it probably was in the shadows. He climbed quietly back into his window, opened up a door. Cringing as it squeaked on rusted hinges. His light footsteps had the skill of one who did this quite a bit. The entrance to the door was getting closer, and closer, and closer still. Until his hand could reach the knob. Counting to three slowly in his head he reached trembling fingers out, grasped the doorknob covered in slime, opened it as quietly as a door with ten years of filth on it could possibly open. He peered out into the darkness, looking for the dark cloak that should have still been on the his doorsteps.
He shrugged and started to close the door when a practically bleached white hand shot out, grabbing onto his arm, the only thing that covered the color was dark blood. Blood that was still oozing out of the person on his doorstep.
Sorry it's so short, I just want some feedback on whether or not I should continue it? If so please tell me? And who do you think the two people are?