Stories For A Rainy Day

Welcome Home

He walked up to the old house at the edge of town. The male stopped at the end of the driveway, unsure if he actually wanted to continue or not. The house was in a major state of disrepair. The white walls were grey with age, the gate that once stood tall and proud, a crumpled heap from being hit so many times. The windows that used to glow with a welcoming light, shattered and filled with an endless gloom. He cautiously approached the house as the over grown grass seemed to whisper dark secrets that no mortal was to know. He took a hesitant step up to the porch. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, but whenever he looked around, there was nothing there. Though, he could have sworn he saw a pair of eyes in the grass. The man brushed it off and slowly went up the stairs, jumping slightly as each step creaked and groaned under his weight. He stopped when he got to the door and took in the details. The old rusted knocker, the peeling paint... He shivered as a chill ripped through him. Almost like a hand had trailed it's icy finger down his spine. He pushed the massive door open and stepped inside, immediately noticing a drop in temperature as the door slammed shut behind him. He tried to convince himself that it had just been the wind, though he knew it wasn't. The male glanced back at the door then made his way through the house. Nothing had changed since the last time he had been there, the only real difference was the heavy coat of dust over the furniture and the cobwebs in the darkened corners. The man didn't know why he had came back to the house. It reminded him of the harshest time in his life, memories that he tried so hard to forget. But there had been good times as well. He figured that must have been the reason he returned. The good memories...

He looked over at the old fireplace, gingerly picking up a frame and dusting it off. The photo portrayed what seemed to be a happy family. The photo was taken shortly before his father had snapped and killed the rest of his family. His aunt had moved into the house to take care of him. She had been an older woman who had no husband or children of her own. At first she was kind and caring. She always acted that way whenever someone came over as well. But behind closed doors, everything was different. He had constant nightmares due to what had happened and would often awake in tears, but his aunt never offered any comfort. No, she did quite the opposite. She would blame him for what had happened, though he never understood why. He shivered at the memory of what he had endured until he had finally had enough and went to stay with one of his friends. When his aunt passed away, he refused to go to the funeral or back to the house. Because no one in his family wanted it, the house was left to him. But that had been so many years ago...

He sighed as he set the photo down and glanced around. The man started towards the kitchen but froze as a shadowy figure ran up the stairs. He jumped slightly and looked up, but couldn't see anything in the deep darkness above. He tried to ignore it, but his curiosity got the better of him. He said a silent prayer as he pulled his phone from his pocket and used it for light as he ascended the old stair case. Once up to the second floor, he looked around the L shaped hallway. The tattered and moldy curtains blew in the breeze from the shattered window along the back wall. The male watched as the black figure he had seen before crossed in front of where he stood. It was clearly a woman, but he could see none of her features. The only defined thing about her was the shadowy tendrils that drifted along the floor from the edges of her dress. Everything in him screamed for him to run. To leave and never look back, torch the place even. But he didn't. He felt like a puppet who's strings were being pulled by an unseen force as he followed the figure down the hall to his old bedroom. He noticed the old books and toys still scattered across the faded blue carpet and the moth eaten bed sheets still tucked under the mattress. His attention was drawn back to the figure as he heard the impatient tap of a heel, a sound he had been all too familiar with while growing up. He knew who the figure was just as well as he knew his own name. He approached the ghostly figure of his aunt with shaky steps, wanting to be anywhere other than where he was. He tried to run when the tendrils reached out and caressed his cheek, but he was frozen to the spot. His aunt turned to face him with a smile as the same shadowy tendril wrapped around his throat. "Welcome home," was the last thing he heard as he fell into death's eternal embrace.