Will
Going down the stairs to the basement, I can't help but remember why I left this place. The photos hung on the wall aren't of my family anymore. They're pictures of some trees, a cat, the sky. I don't know why people take pictures of those things.
My father used to do that. They called him a dreamer, a wanderer. They didn't know any better, so I can't blame them. I take a picture of a river off the wall. I recognize it: the Hangline river. My brother almost drowned there once.
When I was young, I had an imaginary friend. His name was Matches. Nobody else could see him but me. He was a little clumsy, bumping into things and knocking them over. Mom would ask, "What was that?" and I would say that it was Matches, and she would look at me strange.
Matches told me to stay away from the river. He said that nothing good every comes from water, and that fire is the only salvation. I don't know why I remember that. I guess I was a weird kid.
The stairs creak and buck as I go down. Dust is swirling about. The power switch is somewhere along the back wall, but that's not why I'm here. Underneath the stairs, I find empty cans and a mattress. Sitting on top of the mattress is an old, battered camera. Someone's been here. I hear a creaking noise above me. Someone's still here.
YOU ARE READING
All the Lights are On
Mystery / Thriller"If there was one thing that could throw this town on its head, of course it'd be the goddamned McKenzie house." The McKenzie house stood tall and proud, its walls worn down by time and weather. It sat with windows boarded and shutters closed, with...
