Come Die With Me

I have never really liked this house...my father left it to me after he died. It is a three story estate: filled with room after room of old books, out dated newspapers, and musty old furniture. I have been walking around the empty hallways, just remembering times of past. I may not like this place, but it's home and somehow I'm going to miss it.

"Alex, hurry up we're gonna miss the train!"

That's Heidi, my best friend since grade school, yelling up at me from the first floor. We planned to explore the world together. Now that we've graduated from college, I promised her that I would take her to London.

" I'll be right down, I forgot something in my room!" I yell down to her.

" Alright, but I don't want my summer to be ruined because you forgot to hide your porn stash!"

I hear her giggling downstairs, she makes that same remark about everything. I smile to myself as I continue down the endless hallway. I really didn't forget anything, I just needed to take one more look at my father's room. Ever since his passing, I have not been able to force myself to go into his room and it's been years. I finally make it to his door and I stop. I stand there staring at the door for what feels like an eternity.

" I can do this," I say to myself.

My heartbeat quickens and goosebumps spread across my flesh. I reach for the door handle, the door shrieks on it's hinges as it opens into a dark master bedroom. I pull out my lighter, and grab a candle of the wall and light it. My father was old fashion like that, shoving the lighter back into my pocket I walk in.

To the left I see a moth-eaten canopy bed, dripping with cobwebs. Must have been a lot longer than I thought, since I've been in here. The wallpaper sheds from the walls, like dead snakeskin and flutters to the floor boards as I brush past.

In the corner on a worn out rug sits a child's wooden rocking horse. The seat worn smooth, the corded mane and tail coated with dust. My little sister's, she died at a very young age, and I guess my father didn't have it in him to toss it out.

After she died my mother and father basically stopped talking to each other. I think it's what caused the divorce, but I'd rather not go into the subject. My father's mahogany chest of drawers stands lifeless the top draw still pulled out, as if someone left in a hurry; a cracked mirror clings to the wall above it, but I know better then to catch a glimpse of myself in it.

The air is thick and heavy, it seems like I inhale the shadows around the room, as they cower and shrink back from the light of my candle. Their twisted silhouettes and outlines bottleneck in my throat like dead leaves circling a drain, and during this moment it becomes obvious that the quiver of a gentle candle flame may not be enough to keep the ghosts hiding in this room....from coming out.