Abandoned House Essay
Walking up the sidewalk to the damaged red door before me, the sound of soft thunder lingered around me. It was cold, like at the end of the spring after the frost. I slowed my pace just enough to rethink my adventure I was about to proceed, but still carried on. I was about to enter the realm of an abandoned house left many years ago, and discover what secrets might be held inside. Before entering, I took a good observation of the outside. Vines had clung itself to the outer walls of the house, while the top floor window looked as if a baseball had been thrown through it.
The roof was tattered, and a whole was present beside the chimney large enough for the neighborhood birds to nest. Around the house was unkempt undergrowth as if the house had grown up from the very earth. Although I took into measurement of what I had seen, it was what I hadn’t seen that bothered me the most. The house seemed secluded, therefore no neighborhood children were found playing ball in the streets, and any sign of life for the matter could not be found. I then leaned into the big red door, hearing it screech as it opened.
Inside the foreboding house was dark, and the only light reflecting inside was from the ray of sunshine making its way through the moth eaten curtains. The house felt unnaturally still, and the only sound I could hear were my own breathing, and the creak beneath my feet with each and every step. The walls were stained with black and gray streaks showing the mold from damp nights had seeped through. The wood floors were in damageable shape, with the assumption that termites had done their job.
As I walked down the wide mpty hallway, flaking speckles of paint lined the floor and the stain from where furniture was once placed was noticeable from the discoloration in the wood flooring. A rank odor lingered with no visible source, and as I gained distance into the depths of the house, I felt the palpable sense of my own fear. There was no furniture in the house besides for one lonely chair off to the corner of what I believed to be the living room. It was an antique dust collector, with an aged floral print that would be familiar with older generations.
As I looked on, my fear began to cease, and I was more sorrowful than afraid any longer. Within the kitchen, there was a window platform that contained an old abundance of pots with soil still contained in them. Dead sticks showed sign of a once mass production of fruits and vegetables. All of the cabinets were empty except for the one above the sink, where numerous canning jars full of expired tomato sauce and such recipes were present. I found this sad because of what I once thought was a terrible frightening place is now looked at as a house that was treated with love, and now all is lost.