The Dilapidated House – 3/3

Shell-shocked with dilated pupils. Chris couldn’t help but imagine the worst. Something had fixed the window and worse yet, it was mocking him. He ran for the door. The window at the end of the corridor was gone. He now realized it was just light.

He sprinted harder but screeched to a halt at the start of the stairs. Everything in the hall was organized. The carpet was new. And the window, gone. Again. Before he could collect his thoughts, he heard a laugh. It was coming from behind.

He turned around and recognized the smirk. But he was too flabbergasted to move. A tumultuous whiff and he found himself flying. Almost in the middle of his flight, his body was parallel to the inclination of the stairs. His hands and legs were flapping around, looking for something to hold on to.

He felt desperate. It felt like he was falling into a gaping well. Darkness tried to engulf him, but the end of this myriad tunnel was guarded by a blinding light. A white light.

The flight felt endless. Time had stood still, and his prayers seemed to take forever to be answered. He felt uneasy and breathless as the fear of hitting hard ground had gripped him tight. His anticipation was way worse than the fall itself. He closed his eyes as if darkness would help relieve the pain. But what Chris didn’t know…was that he was waiting for a thud that never came.

He opened his eyes, as it had been too long since anything happened. He found himself lying in the front yard, light headed and nauseous. The medley of strange things didn’t register at first. He didn’t remember walking out of the door. But then, slowly, it all came back to him. The search for the ball, the chaos which magically turned to order, the disappearance of the light, the appearance of the smirk and the subsequent return of the light.

But he still couldn’t figure out as to how he had escaped the fall. He had only one explanation: It was just a nightmare. But before he could content himself with that, he looked up at the house. The entire window was tinted brown except for a transparent circular patch, the one in the shape of the ball. The ball which was now in his pocket.

It eventually dawned on him, that while he was being mocked by a demon in black, he was constantly being attended to by an angel in white. From the front yard, he could imagine the demon smirk and the angel smile. One wishing well and the other…….well…



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.