I don't know why or how it happened. It just did. Looking back, I don't care, or even consider the reasoning behind my actions, just that they occurred. It was a normal day in fact, just a cold winter morning in Holton, KS. A small quaint little town. A place where children could play without fear of abduction, and neighbors could shake hands without worrying about a drive by shooting. Life was nice, comfortable, controllable.

It was slippery outside, that day. Ice on the roads, covering cars, and glistening on the yards. My car was gliding down the road at a safe speed. Even though the roads got icy all the time in the winter, people were too stupid to drive on it. As I came to an intersection, some random idiot skids out in front of me. With no time to react, I T-boned the guy, and our vehicles skidded into a ditch.

I crawled out, seemingly unharmed, the other car was under mine. I sprinted over to the twisted wreckage, and pulled out what looked like sausage fresh from the factory. She was beaten and bloodied, and not just from the accident. The only problem was we were on a country road. The only house in viewing distance was the Smithers' run down bungalow. As old as it was eccentric, if someone actually spent the time to renovate the place, it would be equal to something like a Bill Gates' mansion.

Instead however, it looked like the biggest house-shaped turd in the state. Paint was peeling, shutters flapping, wood creaking, and windows broken. The Smithers' don't even keep the place up. They retired and went on a cross country tour, leaving behind a house that looked like Extreme Makeover: House Edition forgot to finish. Knowing them, they left behind almost everything inside.

Oh yeah, I forgot about the driver. I lifted her in my arms and stumbled on the dirt path that leads up to the house. It was quiet, cold. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash. I turned my head, but it was gone. I sped up slightly, now at a speed walk as I reach the porch.

I opened the screen door, which squeaked loudly. Tried the door, and it was locked. Where would they keep a spare key? I thought to myself. I see a random rock barely sticking out of the snow. I lifted it and checked underneath. Sure enough, there it was. I opened the door and walked in. It smelled stale, like the biggest loaf of moldy bread imaginable. I could almost taste the stench. Each footstep sounded like a cat wailing in the night. The house was full of holes in the walls and floors, wood rotting, and of course, food composting. I sat the injured woman down and went upstairs to search for medication of sorts.

While in the upstairs bathroom, I saw the faucet and decided to turn it on and wash my hands. Instead of water, it spewed out this warm, brownish liquid that just accumulated on my hands. Turning off the faucet, and smeared the gunk onto a towel. I grabbed some painkillers, gauze, and hydrogen peroxide, then went downstairs. I found she had left and entered the kitchen. She stood over the kitchen sink, water running, and dishes clanking.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked in an angry tone.

"Just doing some dishes honey." She answered mild mannerly. I looked into the water. The dishes had molded food on them, the water was the same murky concoction.

"Come here, let me help you." I said, gauze in hand. She looked at the medical equipment, then at me, then at the sink, and finally at herself.

"Oh... You mean this? It's just some scratches." She smiled, completely unfazed by her scars.

"What's my name?" I asked her. I had never told her, so she couldn't get it right.

"Sure I know your name. You're my husband Jonathan Smithers." She said this, proud as could be. "We finally got home after the trip." I stepped back, confused and also dazed. I walked away, and heard her turn back to the dishes and get to work. Wait, get to work? I meant live in a confused state. Maybe I'm starting to go. I walked over to a door and opened it. It lead down to the basement.

"Ok... Not going in there." However, as I turned around, I saw another flash in my corner of my eye. This time it was brighter. I couldn't resist curiosity's grip on me. I walked down into the darkness, feeling for a switch. Towards the bottom, I found it and flipped it on. I saw the glint again, only this time in the center of my vision. It drifted through the air and disappeared behind a bookshelf.

I walked over and started tearing books from the shelf, I really just didn't care. I wanted the light. No, needed the light. Even with the bulb on, these negative vibes kept overwhelming me. I couldn't bare it. It was if the walls and the shelves and the decorations were all watching me.

"Fuck!" I screamed as I backed up and kicked the shelf. The weak boards just fell apart, revealing an old, faded door. I grabbed the handle and slowly started to turn it, fearing it would break and I would be left to a crazy woman and my own thoughts. It clicked and the door slowly glided open. It was the room with the water heater in it. The light drifted lazily until a pitch black, clawed hand reached from the shadows and grabbed it. The hand lifted it up and back into the shadows. A crunching sound was followed by small bits of light falling. I stepped back in astonishment. "What...the..." was all I said as I turned to run. The contorted arm grabbed my shoulder, freezing me in position.

I tried to twist free of its sickening extremity. "You will take the place they left behind, or you shan't leave." I slowly turned around, tears welling in my eyes with fear. The black figure look like it had been scorched in a charcoal grill. Different patches were different shades. The face bared sharp teeth and almost human eyes with orange "irises". It was either the vision itself or something about it that made my brain feel weary. I closed my eyes.

(Conclusion) I opened my eyes from that terrible dream. I was sitting in my chair, dishes clanking in the kitchen, and TV showing static. "Oh Rita!" I call from across the hall.

"Yes dear?" She called out.

"Bring me my cigars from atop the davenport."

"Sure thing, Jonathan." Yeah, that's right. I can't believe I ever denied it, or that it was weird my wife was doing the dishes. The mind can be a tricky thing, especially after a few cold ones. Good thing I'm about to retire in a few years, then we're going to do a cross country tour. Hope the house stays this beautiful. We plan to leave just before winter settles in.

the Unknown one (talk) 07:39, February 2, 2014 (UTC)

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