In the bleakest of nights it is said that all can be heard. Every cricket, every creak. Every gust of wind that blows like a puff of strong breath in the dead of night. Leaves brustle, branches knock.
There is a row of homes on a thin road in a small town. Each home is small yet neat. Spaced far apart, but inviting.
All but one.
At the end of a dusty road is an outlet. In that outlet, the furthest away from all of the other homes, lies one house; a house unlike the others.
While the others are lighter in color and smaller, single stories, this one is not. It is a grand house made of dark brick, looking much like smooth stone. It stands tall and regal, yet haunting. While the other homes are clearly lived in and loved, this one appears the opposite. It is cold and unwelcoming.
It is a lone, uninhabited home, seeming far from civilization and modernity.
It was a home to someone once though, long, long ago, and it could be again.
It might not have the chance though.
An empty lot, an empty house in it's space. That's all it is now. No one lives there.
The inner structure and workings of this house are a mystery to everyone on the outside who knows of it. No one has dared to go in for a long time. To them, there might be furniture, there might not. They wouldn't know.
Haven't given it a chance.
It is dusty, dirty, moldy, shody. It makes it hard to remember that this was once someone's home.
It is unlively now.
There is no family that might walk in after a long day, seeking refuge from the harsh nature of the world today. There is no person who might shut and lock that door at least twice a day. If that door were to be opened now, it's hinges would shriek, sounding brittle, definitely looking it's age.
The once kept yard is now a mess.
There are no children here to play in the surrounding area, whether it be running through the sparse grass or kicking up dust from the dirt. There are no longer tread marks from tires in the driveway from someone's coming and goings. No remnants of their rubber on the pavement, dirt, or gravel. Weeds have sprung up in every crack, crevice, and hole that is so obviously present, nearly knee length in height to the average sized adult.
Paint chips litter the ground surrounding the decaying fence around the area, cracks up and down the mildewy wood that surrounds the outside of the building. Cracks are present in the brick of the outer walls. The roof is a mess too, shingles weatherworn and disrupted, gutters unhinged and hanging on by a thread. A portion of the windows are broken, covering the surrounding ground with sharp glass, while the rest are smudged with dirt and dust, this all leaving a good view of the inside unobtainable.
The backyard looks just as bad as the front. The scenery is quite unpleasant.
Weeds have overgrown back there as well. Broken patio furniture litter the yard along with trash that has been blown in by often unrelenting wind. The wood of the backyard deck is sun bleached and cracked, nearly to the point of where it might crumble if stepped upon.
A small pool sits nearly drained, holding rainwater, brush, and more trash. The water is murky green in color, looking like an unappealing swamp. Leaves, mud, dead bugs, and thousands upon thousands of different bacteria inhabit the water. Nats, mosquitos, bees, and other annoying and potentially dangerous insects swarm around it.
The aroma is heady. Not pleasant at all.
Get-togethers might have been held here once; celebrations, kick-backs, small gatherings, or even just peaceful relaxing. Now there is nothing. Not a soul in sight.
