I once had a very great friend who had been with me in all times. At times when I’m lonely, she stood there beside me, doing anything to make myself comfortable. She was my one and only best friend. My friend who I once called, Erika.
We were great childhood friends. We’ve done so many memorable things together, tried many things for the first time. Until one day, my parents decided to move me to the city and left us two without communication.
Years passed and I haven’t heard much of her. I already found the girl of my dreams and have decided to marry her in a couple of months coming. I couldn’t remember what she looked like nor her name. What I couldn’t forget was I had a very best friend in my left hometown.
My fiancée, Marise and I got to visit my hometown for the last time. We were moving to America after we get married. The neighborhood was still fresh from my memories. The green grass of the hills, the huge maple tree in the center of the local park, the roads that eventually been renovated into concrete and our old house. It was still ours though it was deserted for more than a couple of years.
The house was fenced with green painted planks. Our old gate was still there in great shape. I tried to open the rusty gate of ours which was formerly painted white. It screeched like it was happy to see us. Holding two large suitcases didn’t stop me from adoring the place. Lots of flashbacks came to me like time travelled back to when I was just a kid.
Home sweet home. The cool rural breeze wiped our faces as if it welcomed our arrival. We paced towards the stepping stones heading the house. The wooden doorstep screeched as a sign that it was obviously old.
I wouldn’t knock because there was no one home. I settled the two suitcases down and gave the scrawny doorknob a handshake.
Marise, on the other hand felt a strange touch on her shoulder as if someone patted her. She was silently startled. As I saw her, she was checking out the lawn or what she can saw at her position.
I didn’t feel strange by the time we entered the house but she wasn’t that much comfortable. The furnitures were covered with white fabrics. Dust and webs were decorated all over the place. Step by step, the floor was screeching as if it was just scrawny and old.
Marise wasn’t still comfortable. She just couldn’t find the place cozy. As if there was something bad in this place. She was pretty exhausted by the trip. Probably, she’s just suffering a major jetlag, that’s all. She fell on to a sofa that she thought was comfy.
Squeak, squeak, squeak. A couple of rats came running outside the couch. She was frightened. Both of us were. She screamed so loud, the whole house could almost hear her.
“That’s okay, honey. It’s just mice. Nothing to worry about.” I tried to calm her.
She was deeply panting. Traumatised of what she saw or just encountered. But still, it was my home. I could feel safe hanging out with that house.
Night fell. We already arranged our things and tried to clean up the whole house. It was just like yesterday. My little bedroom was there. My parents’ bedroom. The kitchen. Basement. Everything. Even my mom’s little garden was still alive.
We settled on to the master’s bedroom. I never thought it was cozy. I hardly could even visit the room because it was pretty sacred.
In front of the bed was a big white cabinet. There I put my clothes and so was hers. The house at night was a loner. It never had a neighbor or if you’ll consider houses half kilometers away. The house was run with electricity so there was nothing to worry about in terms of light.
We had our dinner at the dining room and had a good rest. Everything was fine that day. Nothing weird. Until the next day. Marise was experiencing unusual scenarios that I hardly could believe.
