The Story Without a Name.

Further on in this post lies a story that has no name, for I have not thought of one yet. The main character does have a name, although it does not make its presence known as of yet. What is, in fact, contained herein is a very rough draft of a story that I am working on that starts shortly after the story starts. Unfortunately, I left the prologue in Moscow. I think. Anyway, key things that you should probably know:

• The main characters name is, tentatively, James Waverly. This is revealed in the prologue, along with several other pieces of backstory about that character, and some other miscellaneous information.
  
• The story takes place in the magical hills in the area of a small town called Moscow, located in Idaho for your convenience.
  
• It is to be continued...
• I'm sorry about the formatting. The knowledge of how to create what is commonly known as a "tab" or "indent" in HTML is not one of the things that I possess.
  
• I don't really have anything else to say, I just like bullet points.
• A lot.

The Story That, As of Yet, Has No Name.

The young man stood outside the imposing black door, shuffling nervously and reaching up to his collar every few seconds to adjust it. At this point, no one inside the house knew here was there, and, more importantly, no one outside it knew, either. If he turned back now, all he would lose would be a little bit of pride. But he’d have that nagging feeling for the rest of his life that things could have turned out differently if he’d had a little bit of courage and knocked on the door. Of course, “differently,” could be either bad or good, he reminded himself, but it seemed rather unlikely that anything terrible could come from trying to find the mysterious Dr. North.

“Never mind,” a small voice in the back of his head cried. “There’s always another time, a better place – why do it now? Go home, gain back your courage, and try again another time.”
But even the voice in the back of his head knew that if he turned back, there wouldn’t be another time. Somehow, this seemingly inconsequential action had become pivotal in his life. He silently cursed his over-analyzing sub-conscious and fiddled around with the keys in his pocket, delaying his inevitable decision for a few more agonizing seconds. Seconds, that, fortunately, seemed to take an eternity to pass. Paralyzed with indecision, he let another few seconds pass, unable to take definitive action one way or another. His heart beat quickly, and his breathing grew somewhat ragged. He tried to convince himself that his palms were sweaty and that he was too nervous to carry on, but his body wasn’t cooperating. No sweat.

He sighed and waved his hand in a gesture of frenzied indecision. Ironically enough, that action made his decision for him, as his hand hit the door with a quiet “thunk.” A disproportionately large echo strolled through the house, although it sounded just as indecisive as his knock had been. Ah, well. There was nothing now but to knock again, confidently this time, and hope that the confidence of the second knock erased all thoughts about the timidity of the first.

The second knock produced a large booming noise, and again it seemed as if the door was magnifying the sound – but that was probably just his nerves. Even still, he resented it. Now was really not the time for his nerves to be getting the better of him. But, after the second knock, the house was still as quiet and dark as it had been before. His heart leapt up inside him. Perhaps, through no fault of his own, he could still hold a graceful retreat! But no, even as the thought skittered through his mind, sounds of activity began to come from inside.