The Abandoned House | A Short Story – Fiction

‘Let’s go, let’s go’. Travis whispered with a trembling voice as he grabbed my arm and pulled me in hopes that we could flee.

But wait. I should probably start telling you this from the beginning. For two reasons: First, you will relate to how I felt before entering the house; and second, you will end up just like me. So, this will prevent you from felling so lonely. Whether my words to you will make you feel better, I am not sure. But, finding a letter similar to this one I am writing to you, whoever you are, helped me to accept my situation (despite the lack of explanation for the events that unfolded).

Let’s start from the start: the first time I ever saw the house. I was walking along the beach when I looked back. There it was, looming over the hard packed sand on the top of the rocks. I was instantly drawn to it. I had to climb up there and see it from closer. There it was between the calm sea and the quiet street. I looked around; but, despite the lack of passers-by I couldn’t bring myself to jump the low wall.

Finally, I decided to return home and tell Travis about it. To start with he didn´t seem that interested, but as soon as I told him I was going to go inside it I had his attention. After showing him the photos I had taken of the house, he exclaimed ‘you must be mad!’. He continued ... ‘what are you expecting to find there?’. I turned away, shrugging my shoulders while inviting him to come along. I was determined.

Many days went by between my first encounter with the abandoned house and the night we broke into it. I went back there several times to look around in order to familiarise myself with the surroundings as well as with the house itself. There was never a lot of movement around the area, but Travis and I didn’t want to be spotted jumping the wall, or wandering in the bare garden. For that reason we decided to go after the sunset. We both had been there the evening before. As soon as night fell it was deserted around there. It was definitely the right time to do it.

During that entire day I could not concentrate. My thoughts were overtaken by images of what we were going to find there. In my head it was as if only the outside was derelict. I liked to imagine that after jumping the broken window (we had already picked the one) we were going to find a dusty, enormous living room with intact furniture and a grand piano. Travis told me I was definitely going bonkers; he said all we are going to see is rotten, dump walls. I don’t know why he was trying to conceal his excitement. He was so excited about this that he bought a new headlight and even a set of tools. I made fun of him, in reply he said ‘well, I needed this things anyways’. I smiled in return.

That was it. We were on our way. Only three kilometres separated us from the house, which we walked while alternating moments of concerned silence and excited conversation. Travis repeated about a hundred times ‘we walk around to make sure there is nobody there, then we jump the wall, go around the back, break the rest of the glass, wrap ourselves with the blankets and go inside. Be careful not to cut yourself! Turn your headlight on only when we are at the back of the house.’

Ten minutes after he repeated that for the twentieth time we were there, at the back of the house breaking what remained of a glass window. Travis said he would be the first to go in, he threw a stone inside it first for reasons that he explained, but I was way too excited to pay attention. The window was not very high up from the ground, but we both had to pull ourselves up and manoeuvre the broken glass. We were in.

My heart was thumping. We were so overwhelmed that we lost count of how long we stood there for before we stepped forward. We were in a library, which looked (and smelt) nothing like I had dreamingly imagined. I don’t know how long it took for our senses to get used to the dump air, to the stench, to how the objects felt at our touch. What I remember is that I was fascinated by the size of the room, the two huge desks, the giant portraits hanging on the walls of the now disfigured people and, most of all, by the collection of books on the shelves that framed the room. All we could hear in there was the far sound of the waves.

Travis just strode to the heavy-looking closed wooden door. He even smiled at the realization that the door was locked. It was a great opportunity for him to use his tool kit. So, while he fussed with the door I browsed the bookshelves, and for what seemed hours I picked the books I could reach, carefully flicked the rotten pages and put them back in their place. As for Travis, he just would not let it go until he finally turned to me and asked ‘are you going to help me? Don’t you want to see what is beyond the door? Come here, I need you to shine your torch here so I can see things better.’ I sighed, because I was actually quite happy skimming through different books. Although, he was right, I did want to see the rest of the house.

As I shone my torch around the room making my way towards Travis I noticed two things on one of the desks, a letter and a photo album. I reached for the album first, it was incredibly heavy. There were so many photos there. I was keen to see every single one of them, and so I began going through the photos despite Travis’ complaints. He interrupted me twice asking if I had heard something, but I was so enthralled by the photos I just kept ignoring his comments. As I was getting to the final pages, the photos really intrigued me, as they were no longer images of people who I imagined to have lived 50 or 40 years ago. Until I finally got to the last page of the album and there we were, Travis and I.

I could not feel my legs; I looked around and whispered, ‘Travis’. He finally stood up with achy legs; he had been there for ages. Travis looked at me and immediately asked if I was ok. He said ‘you are so pale, here ... take my jacket’. At last, I gathered strength and showed the photo of us to him. In the photo we were both standing in the front door of the house. He nervously pronounced ‘put this thing back there now... there where you found it ... ‘Let’s go, let’s go’. Travis whispered with a trembling voice as he grabbed my arm and pulled me in hopes that we could flee. We rapidly walked towards the window, the very window that led us to the library a few hours earlier.

We didn’t run, although we walked as fast as we could. Travis was almost hurting me so hard he was grabbing my arm. When we finally made it to the window we jumped to the outside with no regard for the broken glasses, we cut our hands but we didn’t care. All we wanted was to be outside. Except that, when we landed on the other side, there we were, in the library again, the same library with a slight different layout. Now the window was not just behind us, as one would expect; but on the perpendicular wall. Confused, we both run towards it, jumped through it just to land in the same library again.

We must have done that about ten times, on that first night. Because by the time I wrote this letter to you, we lost count of how many times we tried to get out of here through that window. Travis never managed to open the door with his tools, which we always saw by the door, after jumping the window over and over again. We have lost count of how long it has been going for.

As for this letter, I decided to write to you, whoever you are, because I finally took the courage to pick up the letter that lies on the desk beside the photo album. That letter was written by someone who had also been in the same situation as we are now, and that you are going to be as well for, what it seems, eternally. Did you also find a photo of yourself in the photo album? If you did, look for mine too, it’s the one of a woman in a red coat, wearing big reading glasses standing in front of the house. Oftentimes, though, Travis tells me that I was the one who wrote the letter I picked up from the desk beside the photo album; so then I would feel better about our situation. He said I got confused.

Sometimes I believe him. I love Travis. He is the only thing I have inside this maze. That is why I created him, after that night I decided to break into the abandoned house on my own, and couldn’t find my way out. I created Travis; so, then he could get me out of here. Sometimes I even play the grand piano for him.

[Original Content by Abigail Dantes 2017]
Image – Original photo taken with a Canon EOS 70D | Lens 18-135mm.

Dear Steemean, thank you so much for taking the time to read my writing! It means the world to me 😊