2: House Number 33

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A cold beer now pressed in his warm palms. 

The best way to spend the rest of your silent afternoon.

The sky had dipped slightly below the horizon, melting like crayons of colour and spreading across the horizon line. Raymond had watched the sky slowly fall from the living room couch.

The house of number 33 still held some elements of an old antique demeanor.

Chairs and furniture held on by thick pillars of neatly carved wood - once glazed and polished now splattered with the ink of age. Lifeless carcasses of candelabrums sat under coats of snowy silver dust. Once holding light now reeking of darkness. The living room once held a mauled rug and several paintings of dead lands and people; ones which Raymond couldn't pinpoint with his little knowledge of history; but Jane had immediately disposed of them when they first settled in. Something  about them had unsettled her, he presumed.

The only room Raymond would say was more refurbished was the kitchen. Now holding more modern appliances to better hold up the ancient columns. Ray was quite proud of how well he had brought up this room. 

The house being two storey meant there were more than one bedroom. Two historic bedrooms almost completely identical to one another, except from the peeled wallpaper and added decoration Jane had used to plaster up the ugly of the rooms.  The one room unused by the two now held the label of the 'guest room' - though both never really had 'guests' too often.

Raymond never really liked the spare room. How solitary and detached it was from the rest of the house - it seemed alien to him. He kept away from that room.

Good.

The one thing that Jane and Ray both did not have the heart to remove from this home was the huge mirror that sat in the corridor towards the bedrooms and bathroom. The mirror was indeed quite large, outlined with delicately patterned metal work. Although the reflections were slightly distorted, there seemed to be something quite... conspicuous about it.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Raymond lifted the half empty bottle and took a long drink from it. Wiping his moist lips afterwards, his eyes drawn from the sleeping sky to the grandfathers clock that stood - tall and husk - it's heart beating with every swing.

8:45 pm.

Ray heaved a sigh from the bottom of his chest.

Usually, he would leave at around nine to the pub for a drink. Or two. But today an odd feeling of fatigue had drawn its weighted blanket over him. It annoyed him quite a bit. Or maybe it was the beer?

"Goddamn it..." - he mumbled to himself, pressing his fingers on his tired, aching forehead.

Maybe this was the result of him being overexcited? The adrenaline train had paused its ride around his body; low on steam. Whatever it was, Ray did not like it.

He decided he would call it a night.

His thoughts wandered over to his wonderful girlfriend. A small smile crept along his face. Turning his tired creaking neck over to the gifts that sat pleasantly on the table. Blooming roses, reaching their lace petals towards the sky. That box holding a special secret. He just could not wait for her return soon.

Ray stood up - knees popping like old hinges - and made his way over to the kitchen. Chugging the last remaining drops of his bland beer before promptly disposing of it. He wasn't sure if he had disposed it in the right garbage or not.

Fuck it, he was tired.

Slowly making his way up the stairs; continuously reminding himself of how old he was; his ears began to ring with the sound of silence. He frowned. It was just too quiet. He was never really bothered about the long lonely nights away from Jane, but the silence seemed bitter. Uncomfortable. Staring at him.

He shook his head clear. Now he was being paranoid. He reminded himself he was no crazy crack-head, jabbering about some fucking demon haunting his house. 

Nevertheless, he remained a keen eye. Until he found it stupid for him to check every shadow in the crevices. He had lived in this house for a year, goddamn it. There was nothing wrong.

The corridor that lead to the two bedrooms seemed to run on endlessly. Wide open like the throat of some gaping monster. But it wasn't. This was his home and there was nothing wrong with it. Maybe the occasional busted pipes that screamed out for help - otherwise, nothing. He walked on through the squeaking wooden planks that made the floor. He walked past the mirror.

The mirror. 

He noticed how distorted his reflection seemed to be. He glanced over momentarily. Under the darkened hallway, his other self in the glass seemed to be.. smiling? 

No, that was how the mirror was. Projecting wavering reflections of yourself like those joke mirrors at a festival. Though it was quite eerie. Especially hidden under shadows. Ray took one last look before making his way into his room.

The bed was indeed big enough for the two couples; now seemed a sombre luxury to Ray. He did not even bother much to get changed. He was goddamned exhausted over nothing. Maybe he really was getting older. He didn't really like the idea.

He lay flat on the bed. The mattress sinking under his weight, uttering no sound. As he lay still waiting for the early fatigue to roll him into slumber, something seemed a little off. It was not really anything in the room itself that seemed to bug him - everything was still the same. 

No, it was more of the silence. The silent darkness. Taunting him. Watching him. It was annoying the shit out of him.

He sat up and, reaching out towards the cabinet to his side, he picked up the candle that stood - much like a soldier guarding the bed. 

The only candle in the house Ray had ever lit. 

The candle that him and Jane ignited on their first night there.

A packet of matches rustled around in the bottom drawer. He struck the tiny stick and pressed the flame against the candle wick. It bloomed, splattering the bed, wall and Ray's face with orange and yellow. The candle was slightly old, but still held some fumes. He replaced it on the table. 

Better than that god forsaken darkness.

He lay back down staring at the flame dance in the black. It was romantic, indeed. It brought him many memories of his loving girlfriend and the night-lights in his childhood to chase away the monster under the bed - before fatigue clawed his eyes shut and switched off his body for sleep.

Midnight paranoid sleep.




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