Fractured

Introduction

It stood somewhere on Perance Street, no one knew exactly where, except the resident. It was a stout house, nothing more than a single storey with a pointy roof. The backyard was littered with fallen leaves from the next-door neighbours trees, the clothes line held dirt aged garments that would never feel the touch of skin. The resident was a mystery, never seen, never heard, never expected. He was the opposite to his residence, his clothing clean but old and his stature was tall and imposing, for much like his residence with its pointy roof, it was exaggerated by a large pointed hat.

No one had ever seen the resident at a grocery shop, maybe he shopped in darkness or maybe he just didn't shop. He might grow his own food, but the ground of Perance Street was not one of fertility. Hard and dry, unable to support more than the odd beanstalk and that wouldn't sustain anyone for as long as he resided there. Maybe he suffers. Hunger. Boredom. Loneliness. Hate. Maybe he doesn't age, is immortal and just doesn't notice life at all, but if that's so then how can he live without companionship?

No one every ventured near the house, as they didn't really know it was there. It stood in the shadows of all the other buildings. The only entrance was one you would expect, the front door, which was a sturdy oak wood, carved with ornate scribblings. The door opened up to a rather long hallway and it was covered with them, the real point of this story - the frames.

Some contained photographs, others paintings, none were new but none were uncared for. Some frames held children's pictures, drawn with crayons long ago. Others housed relics from ancient times. It seemed that the resident was either a collector, a hoarder or a very very very old man.

One day, a rainy one of course, someone found the house, walked to the door, and opened it.
This is his story.