Read Part 1 of The End of The Road Here.
He closed the old wooden door behind him, wincing at the long creak it made in the dark quiet of the house. He shivered, putting his shirt back on and drinking the cool air into his parched lungs. It’ll be a bitch walking back into town he thought to himself, pushing his hands blindly along the dusty woodgrain walls for a light switch.
Nothing.
He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and took a few steps forward before ducking quickly out of the way. He’d felt something heavy brush his head, like a spider, or worse. But when he reached out to investigate, his fingers met cool metal.
A chain. He pulled it, and a warm yellow glow took its time lighting up the filament in the lightbulb above.
It didn’t light up much else though; only the three stairs leading up to the main floor and the first few stairs leading down to the basement. And thirsty as he was, he didn’t think much about exploring the downstairs. Instead, he went straight up the short stairway toward the dingy little kitchen at the back of the house, ignoring the dark, cramped living room and low-ceilinged hallway leading to the bedroom along the way.
He was strangely relieved to find that the kitchen door leading out back had a broken window to let some dusty light in, for this door also had black glass, just like the front, and he couldn’t see a lamp switch anywhere. It was warmer in the kitchen, too, but humid, almost wet. His shirt clung to him, and he itched for a shower. But all he could do then was walk over to the tap and push on the cold water handle.
A gurgling sound came out, but no water.
In the cupboard underneath the sink he found a couple old chemical bottles, some cobwebs. He wound these around the top of one of the bottles and found the old switch to turn the water on. The gurgling sound rose again, but this time it was followed with the splash of water.
He shook his head. The water was dark and thick, as if it had been living in the pipes a while.
He decided to let it run through to clear, and started pulling open cupboards which were just as dark and mostly empty. A jar of something he would never open. A can of something else he might. A couple pans and plates. A bowl. A cup. Two spoons, one of them with dark marks on the end. He shook his head again in the dusty half-light. Won’t be using that, he thought. He closed the drawer and took one look at the refrigerator, unsure if he would have the guts to open it. But he was pleased to find one there, at least. To keep the beers cold.
Then the sound of the running water changed behind him and he saw the black flow run white. He put his water bottle under the tap and drank.
Not bad. Touch of the pipes and the marsh out back.
His stomach had handled worse.
He looked around again. The kitchen floor was ancient tile so covered over in dirt you could barely see it. He wasn’t sure he would be taking his boots off after all, and took another drink of water before stepping over to the broken backdoor window to look through. The bright natural light hurt his eyes and he flinched, but soon he saw the tilted shed was there, and the cattails marking the marsh behind it. He saw the garden spilling with all kinds of plants he couldn’t name, ready to seed. Good thing I’ll just be here for the winter, he thought while behind him, somewhere, the house groaned.
He turned, listening hard, not sure why. Old houses settle. They have their sounds. He had, he realized just then, decided to stay, and no sound was going to scare him off. The price was exactly right, and he could make do for a season. Lay low. Disappear until everything back home died down.
The house groaned again, but this time he ignored it. Instead, he worked up his courage and pulled open the fridge, which was surprisingly empty and clean, though it wasn’t on. He found the plug and plugged it in, the rumbling noise of it comforting in the dark silence. He put his beers inside, a block of butter, some bread and cheese that badly needed the cold and closed the door. Then he looked around and realized he wouldn’t be keeping much in the cupboards, opened the door again, and started unloading the rest of his stores into the thing.
Fuck it, he thought, grabbing one of the beers back out and cracking it with a lighter from his pocket. He pulled a smoke from a pack in his bag then put those in the fridge too, putting the single in between his lips and lighting it.
The first drag calmed him down. The second made him a little dizzy, but it was the good kind. He took a sip of beer, put the smoke back in his mouth, closed the fridge, and dug around in the depths of his bag to find his headlamp. He switched it on, quickly turning it away from his eyes.
Shadows jumped and changed along the walls and floor as he walked back through the house to the living room, cigarette smoke trailing behind him along the way. As he walked, the house rumbled. He could hear his own footsteps echoing as if there were two of him walking and stopped to listen, the hair on his neck up from the chill. Then he moved on again into the sparse living room, which held a small couch, a coffee table, and a single lounge chair. He shone the light along the walls, where someone had hung pictures torn out of magazines and calendars. The glossy pages reflected his headlamp back at him, making what was on them invisible. He brought the light to the ceiling where another tiny lightbulb hung, but there was no chain or switch to be seen.
The windows, he thought, finally seeing the giant drapes over the front windows for what they were. The shadows played there too as he moved closer and pulled at the endless black fabric, allowing in the first natural light that place had seen in who-knows-how-long. He coughed as the dust swirled all around and went to open the front door to get a breath of fresh air.
At first it wouldn’t budge.
But with a good, hard pull, he got it free and gratefully breathed in the sour heat of the dying afternoon.
This story is currently a work in progress.
Part 1 is available here. Part 3 will be linked here when it is written. If you can’t wait and need another creepy story to read, try reading Lita by this author!
Jessica Barratt 
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