Status: Here's another story that I'm attempting to write. I'm having a lot of fun with this one though!
Death's Sweet Embrace
1.
1.
Broken glass, broken windows, broken doors. They were like gateways into a different world, a world that existed long ago. People had once lived in this house and spent their entire lives in it. Had children in it, died in it, and saw others take it from them by the mere signing of a thin piece of parchment. Memories were destroyed, only to be replaced by new ones. Memories created by a completely new family who couldn't give a damn about what happened to the previous one.
I walked inside and heard the crunch of glass under my rubber-soled shoes. The interior was quite dilapidated and I could see moss growing all over the floor. The aromatic smell of damp, rotting wood filled my nose as I walked further into the house. Old books were scattered across the floor with faded covers and worn out pages that had their own odoriferous aroma. I always thought that each house had its own unique atmosphere, and this was true for this residence. That being said this house house filled me with the overwhelming feeling of deja vu, which was quite alarming considering I had never tread in it before.
I walked through the doorway leading into the parlor, or what was the parlor at the time, for all the furniture including the stove had been removed from it. The once vibrant golden-colored wallpaper was now faded and was peeling in several different places, and certain portions of the wallpaper showed water stains from the leaks in the roof. This was definitely the nicest room in the house, as it was for most houses at the time. Most families didn’t even have electricity, so the houses were heated by a stove and lit by candles and gas lamps.
I then walked to where the kitchen would have been, and saw that most of the cabinets had been torn out by scavengers. Times were hard, and many resorted to scavenging for anything and everything they could get, and almost nothing was left in this room. This is where the family would have gathered to eat their meals and recount what they accomplished that day. This was where family bonds were strengthened, and also where the mother would be dominant. She dictated what would be eaten that day, who would clean the dishes, and who would put the leftovers in the ice box outside. It was the one place where the mother was dominant, in a world where she wasn’t given a chance because she was born with two X chromosomes.
I proceeded upstairs where I found the atmosphere to be quite different. The air was immediately heavier to the point where it was hard to breath. I soon realized that this could be asbestos or some other mold that I didn’t know of, so I did not tread further. I retraced my steps back down to the main level where I decided where I would go to next in the house. The last place I hadn’t checked was the basement. How appropriate.
The door that separated me from the basement had to be lifted from the doorway as it had fallen off its hinges. I set the door down against the wall adjacent to the doorway, then I stopped to admire it. It was a great oak door with intricate designs in it. Crests of flowers and other abstract shapes. One of the more dominant designs was that of the pineapple, the universal symbol for welcome. It seemed out of place in this aged residence now that the house was abandoned.
I then stared down the stairwell and could see nothing but pitch darkness. This alarmed me. Nobody likes the dark, some may claim that they don’t mind it, but it is our natural instinct to fear it. An instinct that was hard-wired into our brains thousands of years ago, way before any sort of artificial light had been invented. Just man and the wilderness. Just man and the fire by his side. There’s a reason we sleep at night, and that’s to avoid what lurks in the dark.
Creaks and groans echoed down the stairwell as I made the descent to the basement. Dust particles were reflecting the light coming from my lantern, and it looked as if I was racing through the stars in the night sky. I could only see a few feet in front of me because of how thick the dust was. It was dangerous to be down there for multiple reasons: The danger of asbestos, debris, and any sharp objects that may be protruding from the floor or walls. I didn’t feel safe there at all. That basement felt dark, in both senses of the word.
As I made it down the steps, the echoes of my footsteps became muffled. No sound echoed, as if I had stepped outside into an open space. There was no draft and the air felt heavy, as if the room had stopped in time. My heart began to pound and my limbs began to shake. I did not feel safe and I felt as if there was a presence in the room with me. The panic was so overwhelming that I dropped the lantern that I was carrying and ran back up the stairs and out the front door. I vowed to never tread in that home again, but I broke my own promise. That was my biggest blunder.
Broken glass, broken windows, broken doors. They were like gateways into a different world, a world that existed long ago. People had once lived in this house and spent their entire lives in it. Had children in it, died in it, and saw others take it from them by the mere signing of a thin piece of parchment. Memories were destroyed, only to be replaced by new ones. Memories created by a completely new family who couldn't give a damn about what happened to the previous one.
I walked inside and heard the crunch of glass under my rubber-soled shoes. The interior was quite dilapidated and I could see moss growing all over the floor. The aromatic smell of damp, rotting wood filled my nose as I walked further into the house. Old books were scattered across the floor with faded covers and worn out pages that had their own odoriferous aroma. I always thought that each house had its own unique atmosphere, and this was true for this residence. That being said this house house filled me with the overwhelming feeling of deja vu, which was quite alarming considering I had never tread in it before.
I walked through the doorway leading into the parlor, or what was the parlor at the time, for all the furniture including the stove had been removed from it. The once vibrant golden-colored wallpaper was now faded and was peeling in several different places, and certain portions of the wallpaper showed water stains from the leaks in the roof. This was definitely the nicest room in the house, as it was for most houses at the time. Most families didn’t even have electricity, so the houses were heated by a stove and lit by candles and gas lamps.
I then walked to where the kitchen would have been, and saw that most of the cabinets had been torn out by scavengers. Times were hard, and many resorted to scavenging for anything and everything they could get, and almost nothing was left in this room. This is where the family would have gathered to eat their meals and recount what they accomplished that day. This was where family bonds were strengthened, and also where the mother would be dominant. She dictated what would be eaten that day, who would clean the dishes, and who would put the leftovers in the ice box outside. It was the one place where the mother was dominant, in a world where she wasn’t given a chance because she was born with two X chromosomes.
I proceeded upstairs where I found the atmosphere to be quite different. The air was immediately heavier to the point where it was hard to breath. I soon realized that this could be asbestos or some other mold that I didn’t know of, so I did not tread further. I retraced my steps back down to the main level where I decided where I would go to next in the house. The last place I hadn’t checked was the basement. How appropriate.
The door that separated me from the basement had to be lifted from the doorway as it had fallen off its hinges. I set the door down against the wall adjacent to the doorway, then I stopped to admire it. It was a great oak door with intricate designs in it. Crests of flowers and other abstract shapes. One of the more dominant designs was that of the pineapple, the universal symbol for welcome. It seemed out of place in this aged residence now that the house was abandoned.
I then stared down the stairwell and could see nothing but pitch darkness. This alarmed me. Nobody likes the dark, some may claim that they don’t mind it, but it is our natural instinct to fear it. An instinct that was hard-wired into our brains thousands of years ago, way before any sort of artificial light had been invented. Just man and the wilderness. Just man and the fire by his side. There’s a reason we sleep at night, and that’s to avoid what lurks in the dark.
Creaks and groans echoed down the stairwell as I made the descent to the basement. Dust particles were reflecting the light coming from my lantern, and it looked as if I was racing through the stars in the night sky. I could only see a few feet in front of me because of how thick the dust was. It was dangerous to be down there for multiple reasons: The danger of asbestos, debris, and any sharp objects that may be protruding from the floor or walls. I didn’t feel safe there at all. That basement felt dark, in both senses of the word.
As I made it down the steps, the echoes of my footsteps became muffled. No sound echoed, as if I had stepped outside into an open space. There was no draft and the air felt heavy, as if the room had stopped in time. My heart began to pound and my limbs began to shake. I did not feel safe and I felt as if there was a presence in the room with me. The panic was so overwhelming that I dropped the lantern that I was carrying and ran back up the stairs and out the front door. I vowed to never tread in that home again, but I broke my own promise. That was my biggest blunder.