Things fall apart in this house.
He walked to the empty house and held the door open for me. “After you, miss,” he said. “Take your time. If you need anything, I’ll be outside.” I went in. The air inside was stale; the doors and windows haven’t been opened for ages. I went around the room once, walking along the edges of the floor, running my fingers on the wall. There weren’t that many things to see here; the room was nearly empty, the floor was sparse except for a blanket of dust and a chair in the middle of it. I touched it; I didn’t dare to sit on it; the legs were rickety and I knew it would break apart the moment I set my weight on it.
This place wasn’t meant for visitors, I thought.
“Hey, got a light?” he said to me, his head peeking through the front door. I went through my pockets and found my lighter. I tossed it to him. “Thanks. Forgot to bring my lighter. Man, cigarette’s always taste funny here…” His voice trailed away as he closed the door.
There were three doors lined up along the far wall. I tried one of the doors; it was locked. So was the next one. I tried another, the one furthest from the main door. It opened, the rusty hinges squeaking on the door frame. I stepped in.
Light filtered in through the rotten curtains on the window. The curtains were probably white once. I looked around the room. There was a small cot, with a doll on it, and a note on the nightstand. I read it.
“Touch nothing. Leave nothing. Everything here falls apart.” I picked it up. I felt the paper crumble in my hand, the pieces turning into a jigsaw puzzle on the floor. I rifled through the nightstand’s drawers, and went through its contents. There was a broken necklace missing some beads; wilted rose petals; bundles of love letters, the scent of perfume on them already gone; bottles of uneaten vitamins; a light at the end of the tunnel. There were hopes and dreams in these drawers, now nothing but old memories.
I shut the drawers and sat on the bed. I picked up the doll, and turned it around in my hands. There were uneven stitch marks along its neck. An attempt to fix it, yet some stray cotton still managed to poke through the stitches. I hugged it.
There was a mirror on the wall. It was hung near the door, and I missed it when I came in. I got up and stood in front of it, looking at my reflection. She was older, and sadder. I tried to smile, but the smile I saw in the mirror was forced, a feeble attempt to change her frown. I couldn’t believe all those wrinkles were on me; I touched my face, and it was smooth, save for the enlarged pores. I gave a sigh of relief.
There was a closet on the wall near it. I opened it, and all I saw inside were skeletons, old secrets that were never meant to see daylight. I recognized them all; I put them there, every single one of them: the damaging, the painful, the embarrassing. I slammed the doors shut and wanted to wrap the closet with chains and throw it into the ocean. My secrets can sleep on the ocean floor, and hopefully, get eaten by the fishes.
I opened the front door. He was leaning against the porch, smoking a cigarette. There were a few cigarette butts on the floor around him. “Are you done? You still have another hour,” he said.
“I think I’ve seen enough,” I said.
“Want to check the top floor?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s okay, I’m done here.”
“Are you sure? You’ve paid for this. It’s not cheap to enter your mind.”
I shook my head again. “I’m sure.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I hope you found what you were looking for in here.”
I smiled, feebly. He closed the door behind me, and I walked away from the house, a place that was only good for 2 things: keeping things till they were forgotten, and to gather dust.
I don’t ever want to return here again.
Tags: fiction, short story
