Isolated,
at the top of a long once gravel drive,
as it slowly consumes the sun,
it casts a shadow,
covering the expanse of over grown lawns.
Inviting is not how it would be described,
but there is a calling,
a beckoning,
a deep curiosity,
that draws me in.
A shiver passes up my spin,
as the air turns cold,
wooden boards creak on the floor above
as the stereotypical squeak of the large front door
pierces my ear drum.
As I walk down the long darkening passageway,
the world outside disappears,
hidden behind the tattered curtains
and dust covered glass,
the corridor constricts around my body.
I tentatively step my way towards an open door,
unsure of what the crunching beneath my feet might be,
dried leaves blown in by the wind,
or the decomposing carcasses of other creatures
who to answered the calling of this house.
An explosion of fragrance,
cigar smoke,
and freshly cut flowers,
attack my senses when,
there is a flicker of light in the corner of my eye.
I turn,
only to see a long since dead bouquet
up ended on a small table in the corner of the the room,
the shattered remains of a crystal vase
glisten in a dust filled crack of light that bravely penetrates through the dark.
Again the wooden floor above creaks,
this time with purpose,
with the repetition of a child's foot steps running to hide,
as the wind counts to ten through a broken pane in the stained glass window,
at the top of the stairs.
As I gently rest my hand on the once majestic,
now vine covered balustrade,
and raise my foot to the the stair,
the house falls silent,
almost in anticipation of my ascent.
Stair by stair,
heart beat by heart beat,
I make my way to the top of the stair case,
and through the broken stained pane,
I see the last of the sunlight disappear on the horizon.
As I move along the landing,
the wind begins to count,
the wooden boards creak louder than before,
and through half opened doors
I see the shadows hide.
A door that is different than all the others,
remains closed,
curiosity is no longer moving me,
but some invisible,
untraceable force drives me forwards.
I reach for the well worn
yet highly polished door knob,
odd that dust has not found a place to rest here.
With the clockwise turn of my wrist I hear the clicking of the spring,
the mechanism that will reveal what is hidden behind.
Unwillingly,
unknowingly,
I push the door open
and cross the threshold,
walking to the centre of the room the door slams shut.
I suddenly become aware,
and again the house falls silent,
the creaking of the wooden boards has ceased,
the wind has no numbers left to count,
it is my turn to run and HIDE!
