The Dilapidated House – 2/3

A chilled breeze that carried the stench of what Chris supposed was like a century old house, whirled around the corners of the door. He cursed under his breath and took a step in. He left the door open and then waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit setting.

But until then, from every dark corner in the house, a ghastly apparition appeared to be staring directly at him. He felt like it smirked, as if it were delighted to see someone in flesh. An appetizing relish.  The apparition would vanish when he would turn to face it. A classic game of hide and seek that, for the ghost, was sorts of a warm up. Typical.

“Did this room suddenly turn cold?Nah, it’s just a breeze. The window in this room is open”, he concluded after squinting at the bright light coming off of a wall. Chris now found it to be a bit of a cliché. The apparitions were only inside his head.
“Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.” – Albert Einstein. But in times like these, it can screw you up bad. Seemingly real, and grisly visions engendered by our own mind, can cause a morbid effect. Chris was now a victim of it.

When his vision finally kicked in, he took a good look around the room. The carpet was worn off and torn. He couldn’t make out if its brown color was due to dust or if it had always been so. There was a lot of old furniture strewn around the room. But one thing seemed strange, it was like someone had done it on purpose, out of anger or rage. By some diabolical force,  perhaps.

He didn’t put much thought to it and headed straight for the stairs. The wooden steps creaked and squealed as he ascended. One of the steps cracked and his foot slipped into a gaping hole.

“The demon is sucking me into the house! Help!”. His heart skipped a beat. But to his surprise, nothing he feared happened. He was just stuck. With a little effort he was free.

“I have to get out of this goddamn place!”, he muttered mutedly. He finally climbed up and found himself staring down a long corridor that had another window at it’s end. There were several rooms but the door to only one was unlocked. Light from that window seemed to suggestively focus on the room.

“Of course! Why not?”, he said aloud sarcastically. But logic dictates that sunlight during this part of the day would naturally be focused that way. He contented himself with that. He went into the room and half expected the ball to be flying mid air. But it was not, it was just lying on the floor.

He picked it up and looked up to see the window that the ball had come from. The last time he checked, there was a hole that was perfectly in the shape of the ball. And now it was gone.

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The Dilapidated House – 1/3

He couldn’t believe what he’d gotten himself into. 

“A dilapidated bungalow that looks a century old? Damn, I shouldn’t have taken up that bet. But no turning back now. Stella would think I’m a sissy.” 

Chris had heard dark rumors of a white ghost that claimed perennial residence in that murky bungalow. The place appeared to be devoid of life. More precisely, it was deprived of it. All of flora was defoliated, and there were no signs of fauna. A lone tree in the front yard, with its outstretched branches that looked like a witch’s fingers,  bode an ominous welcome to whoever dared to walk in. Admittedly, dark clouds and a lightning strike right now, would’ve sent Chris sprinting for a change of pants. 

Standing in the front yard, he could clearly see the hole in the top window that was in the shape of his cricket ball. And now he just had to get the ball. 

Stella: “That’s it Chris, simple”

Chris: “Yeah!”. Translation –> “I Wish!”

There were only three things that scared Chris: Singing in public, ghosts and his mom, in that order. He once dreamt running to a ghost for refuge while being chased by his mom who was mad at him for not singing in public. His worst nightmare. Part of it would come true tonight. “But Still better than that dream”, he thought. 

Wasting no more time, wanting to just get it done with, he inched closer towards the door. Twigs and leaves crunched under his feet. He bit his tongue and moved with caution, not to make a sound, like that would make him invisible. “Don’t wake the devil”, he told himself. 

When he approached the door, he paused for a moment, half expecting the door to screech open by itself. When it didn’t, he turned the knob and it clicked open. With his reputation, whatever was left of it, on the line, he walked in. “Plain pathetic”, he thought. But there was no turning back now.