The Abandoned House

The air felt very different, even though I was sitting inside the car, a 1995 black civic, very well maintained though. The owner had made sure it stayed in its former glory. I couldn’t see the driver while I was sitting in the back seat with my hand resting on the grey cold leather seat covers, cold to touch due to the air conditioner set to max.

As I approached closer, I felt the tension in my body rising, I crossed my hands and started fidgeting with both my thumbs as if I was pressing buttons on my index fingers simultaneously as I look out at the dimming sun. It’s almost sundown, the orange sky and sporadic clouds encompass the entire landscape.

The weather outside feels cold, one of those smell-less evenings, when all you can smell is the rocks and the dried soil. Driving on a bumpy road, the car continues with soft bumps every now and then, until it comes to a halt. The driver looks down on his left as he tries to catch a glimpse of me leaving.

I open the door and take a moment before taking my right foot out and placing it on the pebbles underneath. I close the door behind me and see the car leave without wasting any time.

I see the bright green trees that cover this part of the town, it almost feels like a forest. I turn around and see the abandoned house. A three-story building made with red bricks that have now worn out and look a shabby maroon color with grey cement here and there. I can see the visible cracks on the right side of the house and on the left, there is a leafless vine covering the left of the house from the ground to the roof.
I slowly move forward and approach the already opened gate. Nobody comes to this part of the town, even if they did, they dare not enter this house because of the haunted feeling it gives to the onlookers.

I push the door; the door opens making a shrieking sound. I enter the house and see that the hallway is filled with planters having shriveled plants. I flick the electric switches open on the left wall but find the electricity not working. But the house has many windows providing ample natural light, with many mirrors refracting the light. I can visibly see what seems to be once, a nicely designed house filled with plants in every corner.

I can tell that it’s the house I would have wanted to live in when I was young, my young self wanted to be many things, finding places to be creative was one of them.

I explore the corridors in the house, examining how the place has changed, it has been a while that I have been here, as I move through the corridors my mind wanders into the past recovering memories buried deep.

I make my way to the back hall, traversing through the corridor turning several times. I know exactly where I have to go. While I walk through the wide corridors, I push the memories aside that keep rushing back like a stormy deep sea. My mind convoluted, heart racing, and anxiety slowly crippling my bravery of facing what lies in the back halls of this house.

I reach a long hallway with little to no light, with walls with wooden panels meticulously crafted, I put my hand on the wall and feel the woodwork as I walk past the broken lights, the natural light continues to fade as I continue to walk.

The hallway leads me to a big arch door with a slight streak of light coming through the middle of it. I reach for the tainted knob and twist it open slowly. The hinges on the door make creaking sounds as it opens.

I move past the door into what seems like a large circular hall with a railing around and a hollow space in the center, allowing people to spectate what lies in the middle, much like a death wall at a circus.

I move forward, put my hands on the railing as my heart continues to beat faster and harder. I look up and see stained glass in the middle of the ceiling that allows for some light to enter making the room visible enough.

As I look around. I hear a whim, coming from beneath, I lean forward looking down the railing as I push my weight on it gripping the wooden railing with my hands.

The center of the hall is hollow with a basement floor revealing a structure much like that of the death wall. So that the spectators can see what is presented from above.

I see a young boy sitting on a chair. with dark long hair. Gray shirt and black old dad jeans. He looks up as I continue to look down.
As my eyes fall on his face, everything stands still as I peak a look into his glistening eyes. Dark brown eyes. The ones that I have. My heart skips a beat as I continue to hold onto the railing. My heart skips a beat as we both continue to look at each other’s faces in shock and grief.
It’s me, the boy, from when I was 16 years of age. He has the same hair like me, and the same eyes as me, and the same smoky lips. I am overwhelmed with grief as I look at his lips, they have been stitched with a bad infectious thread, the ones they use to mend the shoes.
The thread has settled piercing into the skin, because it has been far too long, leaving protruding marks and bloodstains around every stitch. He looks at me in sorrow and content, as a teardrop falls from his eyes falling on his old worn-out shirt.

He is tied with a loose rope to the chair comfortably enough to not hurt him, he could have gotten up and left, but he chose to stay. His hands are also tied back with a loose enough rope.

I can feel what he is feeling, and I hope he can feel what I feel, the regret of all of this, as I continue to have flashbacks, of

…how I tied him to the chair…
…how I used the shoe thread to stitch his lips…
…how I left him with a loose rope hoping that he would get up and rescue himself when the time came...
But he didn’t.

Overwhelmed, I yell at him. “I am coming, I am going to end this.”

I run back through the hallway, as the tears from my eyes continue to blur my vision, I run through the twists and turns back to the main halls and find the small door that leads to the basement.

I run down the stairs, into what seems like a maze, confusing twists and turns and old hardware lying around, hardware to create torturing devices perhaps, experiment tables, a variety of knives and scalpels hanging on the wall organized from small to large on wallboard.
I pull a sharp knife from the wall, hurriedly pushing the board making all the tools clink and fall off, making reverberating noise in the soundproof basement room.

Hurriedly I run towards the narrow corridors as I enter into a small pathway with a brink of light showing on the other end, I run through the corridor without the need of any light, like I know the halls as the back of my hand. I reach the basement floor. In front of my younger self, catching my breath, feeling short of time, even though my younger self has been patiently waiting for over a decade for me to arrive here.
He is content in being there. In seeing me. He just stays calm, without a reaction.

I move close to him with the knife. as he sees the knife I can see his eyes opening wide in shock. I reassure him. “I am here to help” I take the knife and cut one end of the stitch on his lips. My eyes teary and vision blurry, I clear my eyes with the back of my fist, unable to focus but yet determined. I continue to weep and cut the first stitch.

I put the knife down and pull the other end of the stitch from his lips. My younger self groans in extreme pain his inability to yell furthers his pain making his eyes bloody red.

I weep and shake but continue with determination pulling the string one stitch at a time knowing that this is the only way. I can feel his pain as the thread continues to be pulled oozing blood and puss out of his lips dripping on my hands and his shirt. I am finally able to take all the stitches out.

I then untie the rope from his hands and waist. He gives me his hand, I help him get up, he hugs and says

“ You are free now,
I am free now,
We are free now “

I feel forgiven before asking for forgiveness, I feel freed before begging for salvation.

I wrap his arm around me, and my hand around his waist and carry him to walk, through the narrow corridor, into the maze, out of the basement, and out of the house.

As we come out of the house, it's midnight time, the full moon is beaming with its brightness, the clouds moving at a fast pace, and the heavy cold breezes that swift the dried leaves off the soil.

As I look at my younger self, I see him fade, swifting away like a cloud of dust. Forming a whirlwind, as a dog nearby starts howling.