I walk past this house once in a blue moon, but it always intrigues me.
Who lived here? How long has it been vacant, abandoned? Why does a place, close to the centre of the city, lie derelict? why has someone not taken advantage of the large bock of land and done something here? I'd prefer to see the place restored. Looking past the broken wood, the vines and the scrappy trees struggling to retain life, there once as a house that was elegant, spacious and dignified. What happened to it?
Then I wonder, what if this place isn't abandonded? What if someone still lives here? I have seen no hint of human life, no light creeps through the broken blinds, sneaks from between the cracked walls, but what if someone does live here? Who would the be? What person refuses to leave thier once beautiful home, even as it caves in around them? What person has no one else, no where else that they would have to live here?
What stories could this house tell me, if only I could hear?
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"Who is it?" Marcus warm breath brushing my ear as he whispered his question irritated me. My reply came out louder than intended. I almost snarled,
"It is that red Porsche again."
"Police? Oh my god how did they find us?"
"Stupid. The police doesn't drive Porsche. I think it is that crazy writer chick from down the street again. I wonder why she doesn't just walk here and camp in our front yard, for all the attention she has been giving the house."
"Maybe she wants to buy it?"
"Why would somebody drinving a Porsche want to own this piece of junk."
"We should scare her away."
"Right, cause we really need an easily intrigued writer suspecting this to be a haunted house." Not for the first time in this increasingly horrible week I was asking myself why exactly I had agreed to team up with this seventh worldwonder of stupidity.
(TBC) :P
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