Dust

A cold wind tore through the trees, snapping twigs and scattering leaves. It dropped to ground level and toppled the bicycle on the lawn in front of the red brick house at the end of the lane. Spinning the wheel it rose to the sky and set off north.

The house lies in darkness, the unlit porch light and the pileup of leaves in front of the door gives it an almost abandoned feeling. The door is unlocked. All the curtains are drawn, leaving the rooms in a perpetual twilight. The sink in the kitchen is stacked with crusty dishes, seeming to defy gravity in their crooked piles.

There’s a sweet smell in the air. It sticks to the roof of the mouth and the image of white lilies comes to mind. Creaking noises send chills up the spine. The house is settling, the cold wind outside and the curiously warm house have it sighing and moving. More sighing. Or is it breathing? Wheezing breaths come from a room at the back of the house.

Fear closes its hand around the throat. Swallowing gets difficult. The heart slams against the ribcage, feeling the pulse all the way out in the ice cold fingers. Everything quiets down. The wind has moved on again. The sighing and creaking has stopped. Towards the back of the house the darkness descends even further, there are no streetlights trying to send rays of light through the cracks in the curtains.

A small bedroom. A single bed. Covered in old clothes. The wardrobe open, emptied. Endless night never leaves this place. It curls up in the stale shirts, hibernates through the lighter, warmer seasons. Stirring. Woken by October winds and the smell of fear. Seducing the mind with sweet smells. Numbing the body with darkness.

Cold hands cradle your face. You fall into darkness, into night’s embrace. We are nothing but dust, prey, one heartbeat from eternal nothingness.