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| Photo by Brad Fickeisen on Unsplash |
There was a house at the end of a road, it was an abandoned old house. The house was small by the local standards; two rooms and two bathrooms, a single entrance, with two doors opening inwards. This is what spooked people the most. Any space with one entrance also means only one exit.
The overgrown branches of the trees planted at the entrance covered the door as if it was warning me to stay out. I passed the streets, I wasn’t heading for home, but for an old place, everyone believed haunted. I felt drawn to it, to explore the place. So I pulled the branches without sweat and made way into the old house. I opened the door. It made creaking noise as every abandoned house did and then slammed shut behind me. I tried to convince myself it was “the wind”.
The windows of the empty house were oversize. The glass panes divided into many parts like the many compartments in a beehive. Tales handed down from various generations in this town spread across neighbouring towns and cities. Tales about people staying here, vanishing, experiencing bad omens and terror.
The people could not help but notice, that the doors and windows stay shut most of the time. Every Sunday a newspaper got delivered to the gate and by the next day, it was gone. There were rumours of it being a dope house or a gangsters den to keep his hostages. Some have heard the rattle of chains through the dead of the night.
A foul stench invaded my nose. I look around to see where it came from and fainted at the sight of a half-decayed body, nibbled by the rats and maggots. It spied over me, staring straight through me. Those eaten eyes, the eye sockets staring in the open.
My mind was starting to fail, like an engine that turns over never kicking into action. I couldn’t formulate a thought. Everything looked intense and I could not think of a way out of this house. I glanced at the floor, no trap door. My eyes went to the walls, the windows. When I look outside, it was night now.
I walk around and I see there was a fire in the hearth. A chill runs through me. I decide to leave. As I turn around to leave the house and turn the doorknob, I heard someone.
“Don’t go.” said an echoing voice, “we can be such good friends”
I try to turn the doorknob and say “ Can I come tomorrow, my mother will be frantic”
The voice replies “Don’t you remember how long you have been here?”
“An hour?”
“How about, try years? Ten years? The neighbourhood plastered your pictures of you going missing. Your mom and dad split, your brother is in rehab. You left quite a hole in their lives.”
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