THE CRACKED HOUSE, a short story by abdoudz. Date added: 2012-07-12. Times viewed: 821.
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- Intro: don't try to find what would happen next however using your imaginations would be outstanding.
It was during the summer when I noticed the changes over the place on my way home after seven years of wandering. there besides the road which takes to the town rests an old decaying building that can send you a gloomy ,and yet, exciting expression in a mere glance. Obviously the passed time played its tricks on it. what hooked my attention earnestly, was the closed windows with rusty angles,it was peculiar to see a closed windows in this time of the year. kind of suspicion grew increasingly inside me after noticing the fissure which divides its first floor unequally and going down to the ground.the rusty windows were in the dominating side as if they were its eyes looking at me with difficulty because of the falling sunshine on its upper part.at that moment I decided to stop ,attemting to remember this bizarre dwelling seven years ago .but all my recollection's efforts were in vain; a confusing notion possessed me.how could that happend?a newly built house has became dilapidated site ! and what are those gloomy,exciting feelings that are sent to me when I look at its face?While I was setting there examining it I observed a slicely open door in the far corner of the cracked side ,Ilooked at it with hesitation. I was afraid that this house will invite me in.I was afraid that my curiousity will not fail me but it did a really excellent work in alliance with my feet to persuade me to step toward that house or i don't know what it is.I barely started my first step after a while of reflecting and visualizing the worst of what would be hiding behind this door and cracked walls .It could be a nice ordinary family living there with a caring father and a loving mother ,my be a lovely child or children. Who couldn't afford the financial budget to renovate the house.Or I would find a serial killer hiding there with a oppressive sufferance from his childhood which is interpreted on his scribbles on the inner walls ,and a souvenir from his victims as a trophies ,who would be very pleased to turn me to an instrument that would satisfy and settle his childhood pain.All those imaginations were running in my head as I walked heavily toward that door .The moment I reached it ,a car passed swiftly out of a sudden on the road behind me firing its horns madly as if it was warning me from approaching to that house.
That car's horn was enough to lance a cold shiver on my body in that sunny day and stop my imagination as I reached my hand to the door and throw a light polite knocks ........
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