Need help on this piece of work!

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Okay, I have just written this piece, hoping I could fit somethin with it...but I can't, I need help on the plot, grammatical changes and such are welcomed.

The wind swept the leaves into a small, violent tempest, whipping the wooden doors of the ageing cabin. Creaking, the rotting foundations of the shack, slowly, but surely gave way through the years of rain and snow. The tin foil roof, now rusting, shifted with the wind, back and forth, back and forth. Glass covered the bare dirt ground around the cabin, reflecting of tiny rays of light, making it seem as if the rotting house was standing in a land of gold. The aging sentinels loomed all around, many of them, now nests housing familiar and unfamiliar families. The desolate, strangled cry of an owl regularly pierced the air, giving voice to the sentinels, and playing on the fears of men. Every now and then, the trees will resume a dance, so familiar to man yet different every time. Shadows danced upon the walls of the desolate house, creating a cruel, dark mockery of the land of light. The door hung ajar through the years of disuse, now an opening, a mouth one may say, ready to swallow those who ventures near the abandoned cabin. However, everyday, visitors come to the empty lodge, but not in a form we see everyday, no, the visitors are of Gaia, beings of nature, form homes within the ancient furniture and rotting walls. The dust within the house gathered day by day, swirling at the slight beckoning of the winds, dancing and leaping, finding new nesting places. The walls of the cabin were green and slick with moss, inviting even more organisms to board at the shack.

 

It's nice but has a little Hary potter twist to it . It also reminds me on deathgate...

The house itself is a mystery, did anyone living or dead ever got near it? What's the big secret this house is holding, a great treasure or just endless doom, the golden look of the outer world can trap unwanted visitors, and you never hear of them again. But then late at night there is a scream of terror....

Sorry can't help with this one but maybe you l;ike it

 

Break it up!

 

A few grammatical/spellings errors here and there. One sentence, I see, is in the present tense. And the word "organisms" kinda makes this seem more scientific, which is probably not the effect you're aiming for.

Otherwise, cool.

 

I'm worse than Jaheira, I know, but I think you could substitute some other parts of speech for some of all those definite articles

I still agree that your writing style is something to be proud of. A big from me.

 

Okay, I think I got it, but its still kind off shakey, enjoy!

The wind swept the leaves into a small, violent tempest, whipping the wooden doors of the ageing cabin. Creaking, the rotting foundations of the shack, slowly, but surely gave way through the years of rain and snow. The tin foil roof, now rusting, shifted with the wind, back and forth, back and forth. Glass covered the bare dirt ground around the cabin, reflecting of tiny rays of light, making it seem as if the rotting house was standing in a land of gold. The aging sentinels loomed all around, many of them, now nests housing familiar and unfamiliar families. The desolate, strangled cry of an owl regularly pierced the air, giving voice to the sentinels, and playing on the fears of men. Every now and then, the trees will resume a dance, so familiar to man yet different every time. Shadows danced upon the walls of the desolate house, creating a cruel, dark mockery of the land of light. The door hung ajar through the years of disuse, now an opening, a mouth one may say, ready to swallow those who ventures near the abandoned cabin. The walls of the cabin were green and slick with moss, inviting even more beasts to board within the shack.

However, everyday, visitors come to the empty lodge, but not in a form we see everyday, no, the visitors are of Gaia, beings of nature, form homes within the ancient furniture and rotting walls. The dust within the house gathered day by day, swirling at the slight beckoning of the winds, dancing and leaping, finding new nesting places.

Just beyond the offensive light, a lone figure stood within the shadows. A sharp glint reflected of the dirty brown coat. A hood covered his gaunt face, a simple ensemble of a t-shirt and jeans shifted with his every step. His movements seemed spasmodic and uncoordinated, as if he had been starved for the past week. His eyes shone of a corrupted and murderous madness. A quiet clink sounded with every move, his hands, covered in heavy leather gloves seemed to grasp wildly at the air at his side.

The being, a ghost if you will, hobbled and limped inch-by-inch, closer, ever closer towards the cabin. The lone figure walked past the black flames tat licked ever at his heels. Closer he got to the cabin, now he can smell the musty air of its tenants and the rotting wood. He stopped. Standing at the edge of the clearing he looked longingly at the strange abode.

He started to turn away, and broke into a fast sprint towards the hungry portal. A few wisps of smoke emerged from the heavy coat. The wraith screamed, his eyes cursing he abominable light. Just five more steps. Four. Three. Two. One. He lunged through the door, and rolled on the floor. Screaming, kicking and cursing at things that never was. The figure calmed and laid on his back, the dust settling after his charade. Birds flew overhead, in circles, then returning to their nests. A rat scurried around, not for from his left arm, quickly he snapped hand and slapped it against the wooden panels, the rat retreated quickly into the looming shadows. The ghost growled in rage and slowly propped himself up. He glanced around the room, letting his bloodshot eyes fall upon the door.

What more of the damnable light shines through? He thinks. He placed his hands palms on the ground and tried to push himself up, falling over, he swore and slowly clawed his way to the door. A flare took him full blast, wincing he pushed at the door.

Stuck. He thinks to himself. He snapped his feet out and placed his soles on the wooden door. He pushed, straining every muscle in his leg, but slowly, the hinges creaked and groaned in complaint, and finally the portal was sealed. He flipped over and started to crawl back, he spied a lone corpse of a rat, and it was recently dead, but that still brought a cold smile to his gaunt face. The wraith clawed himself over to the body, gently he picked it up, and bit into it. Although the corpse was fresh, the blood was stagnant for a while.

Strange. He thought, but soon he was overcome by sheer pleasure of being able to feel blood upon his tongue once again. He dropped the rat, letting himself feel the nourishing elixir to course through his veins. Revitalizing. He stood up shakily, his knees buckling beneath him, but he was able to maintain balance.

He looked around taking in his surroundings. An antique cabinet lay to one side, many of its shelves, opened, and housing beasts of many kinds. To the left lay a simple dressing table, he stumbled over and placed his trembling hands on the counter for support. He looked up straight into a mirror, and seeing nothing. The ghost screamed, and slammed the palm of his hand upon the mirror, shattering the remains, still he continued, he slapped and kicked at the table, creating crater like dents upon the surface. Still he continued, until nothing remained within him to hit it again, except of the single burning memory. He twisted away, and collapsed in a heap on the floor, picking himself up he eyed the cabinet suspiciously. Limping over he peered into the top shelf, a his emanated, and he felt a burning pain emerge from his pallid hand. He looked closely at the nest, to see a family of opossums. Grinning to himself, he thrust his hand out and clenched it around the mother. Ignoring the thrashing and squealing, he quickly bit into the rodent’s body, tasting the sweet taste of blood. Stagnant blood.

He did not drop the disgusting creature immediately but savored the taste. The rodent landed upon the wooden panels and scurried off into the darkness. How could a living creature have stagnant blood? He looked down again at his hand, which slowly was regaining color, from a pale skull white, to tanned leathery skin.

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, outside the house, in the abominable light. A human figure sprinted across the window. The ghost licked his lips, and followed the figure it was unusually fast. That would provide a fun hunt.

 

The story and how you are writing is interesting, to say the least. But you are shifting between present and past tenses. Should be fixed, I reckon.