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I place my hand against the cold, wrought iron gates. There is no car outside, but I know this is the right place. Sighing, I make my way down the gravel driveway, the only sounds being the crunch of gravel underfoot and the stormclouds above. There is so much static in the air I can practically taste it. It's going to be a big one.
Up ahead I see the dark house, silhouetted against the darkening sky. It sits. Noble, spiky, hostile. As if it used to car once, but now, the world has turned it's back on it, so the house did the same. Much like the person I know to be in there then.
There's a large puddle before me on the drive so I step off it onto the moss alongside to avoid it. Stepping closer to the trees . . .
They feel ominous. Standing like soldiers along the drive of a once noble house. A few years ago, I would have shuddered, but now I just shrug it off. It's just a feeling. Trees aren't the things I'm worried about anymore. Real, actual life concerns me more.
A twig grabs at me so I snap it, hearing the satisfying crack announce my presence. The tree seemed dead before but now, it weeps. "An eye for an eye," I reprimand it and move on. Across the turning circle, up the steps, the slippery steps, to the large wooden door with the reinforced handle so no one could kick it in. The door I used to know so well, sitting outside it, waiting for someone to open it and invite me in . . .
I raise my hand to open it but wait. The cold has frozen me even through the old leather jacket I wear. I can smell the moss I trod into my shoe just minutes before. See the door knocker shaped like a lion. Hear the thunder growling like a car I used to own, before it's real owner took it back with a smile. Taste the dryness in my mouth. Feel the static in the air, the goosebumps on my skin, my hand closing around the handle . . .
Then the lightning flashes on the drive behind me and I jump, twisting the knob and almost tripping over the door frame. I close it quickly behind me, as if to trap the wolves out. The wolves I made up when I was little, because I wanted to go home.
I shake my head. It's this eerie house. It does stuff to me.
I look around as my eyes adjust to the darkness. See the old, antique wallpaper. The door that had always remained locked. I looked down at the familiar, mystic symbol spray painted onto the floor, the smell wafting up into my nostrils . . .
A mouse squeaks and I hear the house settling. The smell of dank mildew is so strong I can almost taste it. But I push on . . . onto the next door, which I had never known to be locked.
I open it, and step inside, floorboards creaking. I see the faded, mouldy sofa and, as I step further in, see the figure at the window.
He turns as I close the door, his nose and chin defined artistically by the sudden flash of lightning outside. It was quite in here. The thunder was a mere purr.
Finishing his turn, he fixes me with a look, green eyes scared. But his mouth smiled as he reached out for his leather jacket, the one I was wearing, and said,
"You came."