Fly on the wall
Titled: Creepy Cold House on The Hill
The tilted, disfigured house sat on a banked and rugged hill. The icy snow looked as though it was cold enough to replace ones spine and wrap their entire body. The thick and bulky clothing wouldn’t be able to protect anyone from this extremely cold early spring weather. The walkway to enter the house was cracked and horribly uneven. Frozen weeds and baby daisies poked from the roots of the ground through the cracks, while red roses, planted in the chocolate-colored soil, grew wildly against the side of the crooked house until they were stopped by the cold. The moonlight glowed on the rooftop as vines formed a maze up the door; their tendrils were reaching towards the roof.
Inside the entrance of the home appeared walls, dingy and grey from neglect. Cobwebs covered each and every corner of every door as spiders swiftly moved out of the shadows and towards their prey. Black, yellowish-brown mold trailed the ceiling in clusters, while icicles formed through the cracks of the roof, running down the walls. In the kitchen, the windows were covered with grass and cold mud. The gentle moonlight struggled to push its way through the window in small rays. Shadows reflected each item against the kitchen walls as its old wall paper, once freshly new, lay crumbled in tight balls on the dark blue-tiled floor. Across from the dining table, a huge, jagged hole gaped in the wall, daring no one to enter inside.
In what was once a living room, pictures hung from the walls, off-centered, with shadows forming as the light roamed around the room. A misplaced bookshelf stood in the corner, undisturbed for such a very long period of time that choosing a book from the shelf might reveal a doorway into a mystical and magical maze. As I made my way back to the hallway on the squeaky floors, a burst of lightcame blazing from behind the door of the master bathroom. The light came from an old flashlight that seemed to be almost at its last battery life. Inside, dust and mold hung from the ceiling. The medicine cabinet lay shattered in tiny pieces on the green-tiled floor, with an empty perfume bottle lying in the marble sink, its fragrance long evaporated. The only noise was the drip, dripping coming from the faucet into the discolored brownish-green sink. Near the edge of the tub, laid a dusty and molded piece of soap, that looked as though it left an old unpleasant coco smell that lingered around the bathroom. Inside the tub, brittle rags filled the tub with little indications of movements underneath.
A wolf outside in the distance made his call--“aoooooo!”--that traveled throughout the house. The urgency to leave is the sense you would get from this ghastly sound. I run down the rickety staircase, out the vine covered exit to escape this old house on the hill.
Written by: Crista Washington