# This Old House



## Ambush Beast (Oct 31, 2010)

This Old House


The house was empty. It had been that way for so long, too long. It was cold and cob-webbed, dust filled and broken, abandoned from its birth so many years ago. The yard was unkept; grass and weeds grew unrestrained, tall and shaggy from the driveway to the curb, from the gnarled old weather beaten porch to the street that wound lazily through the neighborhood. No one remembered why it had been abandoned. Like so many things it had remained unused and desolate shattered and neglected for fear of something nobody understood or even cared to fathom. 

David Tethers looked at the house from the street. He felt like that house. He was unremembered and broken by so many wars, too many battles to count. He shook his head from the old memories and dared to step onto the walkway. No one had stepped on the property for years, no one had reason to, but David did. He had too many reasons to break the old code and defy the superstitions that led men to fear what they did not understand. 

The old gate was not locked, but it was rusted, its once glorious iron workings so detailed in their crafting so long ago were marred by red rust the color of blood. The hinges had not moved for so long they were nearly welded stiff by decay. But he pushed on the gate and at first it did not give way to the force he used. He pushed again at first tentatively then again with firmness and full intent. The gate groaned but finally relented to his insistence. It opened with a scream of iron on iron unlubricated.

Rust fell from the hinges and the placements of his hands on the iron bars to be carried away by the wind and lost to the sea of forgetfulness. For the first time in generations the path was clear and he set foot on the ground that once belonged only to the weeds and the wind. The tall weeds and grasses swept against David’s pants with a swooshing sound and sought to pull him down with nettles and thorns that acted like fingers from a dying man. He felt a chill in the air as he neared the porch, but it was a chill he had felt a thousand times before; it was the chill of misery and despair, lonliness and helplessness. 

‘I understand.’ He said softly to the house. A tear fell from David’s eye as he identified with the pain this old house must have gone through. Strange to think of a house as a living thing, but in a sense it was very much alive. He could feel it. He could feel the longing to be lived in once more. He could feel the loss of hope that it had felt. He understood.

The porch was rotten with age so the wood was weak and stained, warped and splintered when he stepped on it. The wood creaked and moaned like an old man with a new burden added to his back. He tested the strength of the wood with each step he took; old but still useable. 

The front door was splintered and the paint that once was white and inviting was now brown and curled like an old woman’s fingernails allowed to grow unkept for years. The thought shook him as he saw the similarities. 

The old woman had struggled for what seemed like months to cross the parched land of some world that David had been on some year so long ago. She was hunched and bent with weight and arthritis, but fear kept her moving. In a tainted land she was righteous, but the old woman was not long for the land of the living. The dogs with the iron teeth saw to that. 

David shook his head. He had tried to save her, but in the end it was his bullet that released her from her struggles. 

The doorknob would not turn at all. It was stiff and rusted in place. Judging by the wood around the door he doubted that even if the doorknob did turn, he would not be able to open the door anyway. The window was shut, but he could see the latch was in the open position. Stepping off the porch he made his way to the window and pushed up on the frame. With the cry of a wailing woman the window gave way and was released from its downward position. 

The air was old and moldy; mildew and collected water from a leaking roof had rotted away most of the floor boards exposing the basement that rested like a trap or an open grave. Old furniture had nearly fallen apart. A chair was black with dust and mold, a couch was half upright and covered with cobwebs, useless to even a homeless man, from the ceiling hung a brass chandelier, green from age. It could be salvaged for profit but David was not here to salvage chandeliers. He would let it hang for a while more. Stepping onto an open joist, he made his way into the hallway that led into the back rooms. 

The hall was spent, paneling falling from the walls, plaster from the ceiling, paint curled and hard with water damage. The room on the right was a washroom that he was not interested in and the room on the left was empty save for a rocking chair, broken and dust filled. He moved on to the room in the back and stopped before entering. It was here that he began to lose his control, here where his memories truly began to starve his hold on his emotions. 

Upon the bed was an old blanket covered by ages of dust and mold. He could see that rats and mice had long since made nests in the fabric. The bed was a broken as his soul. It was good for nothing but to be burned and forgotten. 


The dresser was covered with dust and the mirror that once revealed the glories of those who entered, lived and enjoyed the softness of the candle light and the romantic coupling of those who slept on the bed was shattered and empty from its frame. He remembered when it had happened. He remembered the bitter tears that were shed that night so long ago. He wept at the memories that washed through his mind. 

She had been so soft and lovely like the flowers that once graced the garden outside the front window. She had been his life and the child she carried would be loved for years to come. Oh how he missed her. How he longed to hear her voice again. He longed to see his child playing upon the carpeted floor alive with wonder and excited about every new detail he could find. 

They had called him up the day before he broke the news to his lovely wife, the night he had lost everything he so held dear. Chaos had invaded some worthless world on the outskirts of the system and he had been called to do his duty to the Emperor of mankind. 

He had wept along with his wife for the entire night before he left to fulfill his calling. He had been promised by the drafting board that he would be able to return home once the war was over. He knew it was a lie from the beginning. He knew he would never see his family again. 

He fought and never relented, his every thought upon his wife and child. He missed them dearly but he knew he would never see them again. 

Now old in spirit and body David Tethers had returned home. 

In the darkness as David walked down the street of an abandoned neighborhood the flames swept into the sky from a broken home taking every memory and emotion the house ever felt with it into the endless night.


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

The extended metaphor is a good touch.

However, some of the language seems overly convoluted. For example:

_...Judging by the wood around the door he doubted that even if the doorknob did turn, he would not be able to open the door anyway...._​


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