As I lurked towards the end of an eerie dirt track, the protective trees stood down their guard and reluctantly parted to allow me entry. The intimidating trees towered over me, almost warning me to step no further. The branches appeared wise and mature, as if they were omniscient to the horror within.
Gradually, I advanced forward and little-by-little, I discovered the daunting secret that lay beyond those all-knowing trees. An old, run-down, derelict house stood powerfully before me, in spite of its weakened walls. The house glared down menacingly like a totalitarian dictator. There was no sign of life. No birds. No cats. No mice. Nothing. Emptiness. The more I hesitatingly inched forward, the more the voices in my head whispered “No”. I felt my limbs starting to weaken and tremble as I painstakingly shuffled my way forward. The clammy heat from my sweat contrasted with the bitter, icy wind howling through the trees.
The old, cracked, weathered windows were boarded up carelessly and were so thick with mould and grime that they were translucent at best. The run-down paintwork was fading and flaking, as if the house was a snake shedding its skin. It was empty. Deserted. Abandoned. Suddenly, a melancholic cry emerged from the beastly house, followed by a screech, then a scratch. Within seconds, the noises had reached a crescendo and a piercing cacophony filled my ears. Was it the cries if a distressed child? Or the foreboding cautions of a mad person? I turned around to run, only to learn that the trees had coiled their gnarled branches to block my exit. It gradually became clear to me that there was no escape.