Skeleton House

                

    The light is dim; the air is musty, and yet there is something else lingering in this house. House, it can hardly be called a home any more, if it ever was.  How could it have been with its macabre paintings and its ghastly past? 

            The trouble is, that ghastly past is so vague and yet it hovers over the house like the dust that lays on every surface.  You need only to creep in through the broken windows, edge your way over the broken floors and come to the main staircase with its askew red carpet to see what I mean. Look at those skeletal paintings atop the stairs. Were they placed there for a Halloween party? Stories say no, they were part of the home’s normal décor.  What does that tell you? Maybe nothing, maybe everything.  Stop by some time and find out, better yet, stop by some Halloween night.

            Why Halloween night, you ask? Because, that is when the house is the most active.  Brave Trick or Treaters and tricksters alike have told tales of lights in the house, empty rooms filling with earie sounds, thumps, footsteps, creaks and other noises they could not even begin to identify.  In recent years, a paranormal investigation team visited the house and gathered some very strong readings on their equipment.  A medium once left mid-session, claiming that the spirits were far too hostile to continue.

           Yet, people continue to visit the house. Some are even foolish enough to expect candy; none have ever received any, myself included.  I tried, convinced that a house that large must be filled to the rafters with candy, or better yet quarters or even plastic toys, like Mrs. Johnson used to hand out.

            None of my friends would come with me, so I had to make the journey up the hill and along the crumbling stone path all alone.  The house seemed to loom over me as I slowly approached the enormous porch that wrapped around the house like shroud. The wind whipped around my costume and threatened to tear my Trick or Treat bag from my hands.  Still, I traveled on, mounting the rotting steps in high hopes of chocolate bars and candy corn.

            The red door seemed ominous to my eight year old eyes, perhaps due to the dead rabbit lying in front of it where the welcome mat should have been. However, a sweet tooth knows no limits and I stepped around the tiny, furry corpse and banged my fist against the door.

            I waited, but no one answered. I knocked again, louder this time. My hand hurt slightly from the exertion so, I gave up and moved to the window to peer inside. I could see nothing but a distant light I assumed to be in the kitchen. I frowned; I had seen a porch light on. Didn’t that mean Tricks or Treaters were welcome? Yet, whoever was home was ignoring me.

            A gust of wind whirled around the porch, causing me to stumble into the door.  It opened against my weight and I fell inside the house.  I was covered in dust and as I slowly stood up, I realized the room I had tumbled into was dusty as well. So, the big kids had been right, I thought glumly, no people and no candy.  I turned to leave when a light caught my eye.  It was the same light I had noticed from the porch.

            Clutching my bag, I moved towards the light. “Hello? Is anyone home?” When I received no reply, I added, “Trick or Treat?” It sounded stupid and plaintive in the large empty room, with its peeling rose wallpaper and its tattered green couch. At least, it seemed to be green in that dim light. I couldn’t make out much in that sliver of distant light and of course I could hardly remember little things like that after what transpired next.

            I followed the light but it led not into the kitchen as I’d assumed but into a corridor that swooped to the left where a large curving staircase stood. It was then that I first saw those horrid skeletal portraits. I gasped, but still had the presence of mind to notice that a lamp perched on a small table at the foot of the stairs was the source of the light I’d seen from the porch. The rays illuminated the dirty carpet on the stairs, the wall paper that was tearing around the portraits and the nondescript piles of trash heaped at the bottom of the steps. Why was the lamp on when the house was abandoned? I wasn’t foolish enough to consider that perhaps the house simply belonged to terrible housekeepers.

            I had decided I didn’t want to find out who had left the lamp on when a crash sounded from the floor above me. I jumped but somehow managed to suppress a scream. I stood there, my heart thumping so hard I could hardly breathe. Was someone inside after all? I took a trembling step towards the stairs.

            I don’t recall just how far up the staircase I got, not far, I don’t think. What I do know is why I stopped where I stood and fled down the stairs, around the corner into the front room, unto the porch and down the path.  I had glanced up at the three pictures of the three skeletons and saw that they were moving. It was not a trick of the light; they had their bony fists raised as though they were trying to break free from the paintings. With each motion of the hands, a loud banging resounded in the hall.

            I didn’t stop running until the last step down the hill, where I tripped and fell unto the safety of the sidewalk.  I skinned my knee and my carefully gathered candy spilled from my orange bag. Despite my terror, I scrambled to retrieve the colorfully wrapped candies. I had shoved most of them back into the bag when my fingers touched something fuzzy. I pulled my hand back and saw, to my horror that a dead rabbit was lying at my knees.  That was it. I deserted what was left of my loot and ran home. A kid can only take so much on Halloween night.