By Melissa L. Webb
The house had sat empty for years. Its presence in the neighborhood was one of distain. It was nothing more than a blight. A scourge that caused people to cross the street when they neared it.
No one wanted to get too close to the god awful eyesore.
Parents discouraged their children from playing too close to it; children spoke of it in hushed whispers in the school yards and at sleepovers. No one was really sure what was wrong with the house. They just knew it needed to be avoided at all costs.
No one could remember a time when someone lived in the house. It just sat there, empty, but not. One look at it and you’d know there was more beyond its curtains than cobwebs and dust.
The Wrongness it projected coated everything around it, casting the street in perpetual gloom. It was a sore on the face of reality, festering more each day.
And a festering wound never gets better. It just continues to rot until death is the only option. And so turning a blind eye to the house, people helped nurture the threat which was growing inside.
The figure stepped away from the wall, its form becoming more solid as it left the place it stood all these years. Just standing there. Watching. Waiting. Gazing out the window and planning all the things it would do once it had been freed.
© 2012 Melissa L. Webb