One Fucked Up World

Chapter Eight

Eight

     We walked deeper in the woods, and what kind of abnormal friend would live in a forest? Harry walked ahead of me silently, he always looked back to see if I could follow. Eventually I couldn't keep up and he pulled my hand.

     I stared at the little house in front of us. It was a small cottage with red sheathing on the top. There was something black on the top that I later realised were solar panels, and there was a long green pipe. The windows were dusty and one of them was broken with closed curtains inside. I saw a face of an old man being painted by chalk on a wall. Apart from that wall, the cottage with covered with new orange paint. That was where he had wanted to paint.

     Harry pulled down something of a wooden rod on the side and solar panels rose, snow slid down.

     "Did you draw that?" I asked, pointing at the painting.

     "Yeah, when I was six, I think," Harry said.

     I knocked the door, and I felt very stupid doing that.

     "No one's inside," Harry said, "Here."

     Harry showed me a key and he opened the door. It was a murk room until Harry went in and pulled up the curtains. The floor made a scary cracking sound as I stepped inside.

     The sofa was old fashion and bitten. There were photos on the wall. There was an empty book shelf next to a fireplace. The burnt coals inside were greyish. There was this armchair. It was all spooky.

     "My dad built the solar panels," Harry said. There were no sight of any unwanted nervousness or awkwardness tottering on his face. He looked almost comfortable.

     "That must be a tough task," I said. Harry pulled up more curtains so more winter light entered the room. "Why are the photo frames broken?"

     "I punched them, accidentally," Harry muttered. "I didn't mean to but sometimes I got angry and I was a jerk."

     Harry opened a drawer next to the window, and took out a piece of blanket. He put it on the floor front of the fireplace. I sat down.

     "Why don't you ask who lived here?" Harry asked.

     "I'm sure you'll tell me."

     Harry went into the other room, the only room actually. He came back with an iron cylinder box with many craft of stars and a lighter. He lit the candle inside. Stars were projected onto the walls with the disgusting fire dancing on the candle. I sat as far away from it as possible.

     "We can see it better with the curtain closed," Harry said.

     "No," I said quickly, "I don't like dark places. Sit with me, Harry."

     He sat down, "don't you like it?"

     "It's quite nice," I whispered, watching the breathtaking shapes of tiny and large stars on the fireplace. I felt like being away, I liked being away.

     "I've got lots of it in the room," Harry said. "But I thought you'd like this one best."

     "You always come here?"

     "Used to," Harry nodded, I leaned closer to him. "When I was scared, mostly. Like he'd be here, like it's the only way being able to talk to him."

     "Your dad?"

     "Granddad," Harry looked around. "He lived here. He still insisted to live here even after he found out about his tumour. I thought he was brave, but now I know he was only stupid. He died here - he wanted to, I suppose. I found him two days after he stopped breathing. Mum was," Harry licked his lips and he didn't speak for a while. Somehow, it didn't feel like a haunted place.