Short Story: “The Abandoned House”

When she pushed the big gates open, the touch of the iron bars were as cold as ice. She could feel the bumpiness of the old cobbled path beneath her, they were smooth unlike the crunching of the odd dead leaf that she stepped on. Carrying on the path the dead, dried up grass carried on forever. One individual Oak tree stood by the house blowing in the wind, she could hear the faint whistle as the wind blew by. The incandescent moon was the only source of light that could be seen for miles. Owls occasionally heard by overhead, their shadows passing over the grass. The air was cold and with every breath she took a foggy exhale followed.

As the house drew closer everything around her became quieter, more distant and spookier. The trees whispers couldn’t be heard anymore and the cold iron gates were far in the distance. She could not hear the owls anymore and there were no leaves on the ground, just some old concrete steps, and a doorway that she stood in front of.

From the outside, the house was tall and thin, made from large dark grey stones. Plants grew up the house, wrapping around the pipes waiting for any sunlight to reached this abandoned place. The windows shook from the whistling wind, as though they were going to fall out of the frames which were being eaten away by wood worms. A few potted plants stood next to the door, once there for appearance now brown, almost certainly dead. The door had been left unshut probably for many years, or maybe someone was already in there.

Once she was inside she saw paintings of what looked like to be important rich people, with their eyes following her every move. To her left was an old wooden stairway leading upwards, each step looked so frail and worn that if you were to walk up them you would fall right through them. Straight ahead led to two more rooms, which looked to be a kitchen, from all the kitchenware left out and a dining room, to the right of her was the lounge area. It had large bookcases on each wall stacked with thick books covered in dust everything in the house was coated in dust. There was no TV just a couch, two chairs and a fireplace; the thick smell of charcoal from the fireplace had spread around the room blocking her breathing. The chairs and couch were made from maroon material once soft and comfy now thin and worn away. Under the chairs lay a black and dusty grey carpet, dirty from the charcoal and destroyed at the sides from mice under the couch.

As she entered the kitchen she could see the moonlight through the windows casting a reflection on the wall opposite. Mugs and plates lay on the surface cold, stained by tea and dust. The taps wearied down and layered in dirt and dust, still leaking into the sink and every time a drop of water fell the sound travelled around the house.

By the time she was done looking in the dining room and upstairs the owls had died down as well as the wind, the moonlight started to brighten to a warm light yellow colour, indicating to her that she had been out all night and into morning. She liked being out at night, it gave her time to soak up the silence so she could be left alone with her thoughts but since the morning sun began to arrive she had to head back home.