With every step, Adam knew he moved closer to his destiny. He looked down at the sidewalk, broken and cracked from countless years of exposure to the elements and noticed that each slab of cement seemed to wear its decay proudly as if to boast of its longevity and experience. The jagged seams ran in every direction possible, frequently overlapping one another. The depth and width of the cracks varied as greatly as the lengths and nearly all sported tangled and grotesque tufts of weeds and dead clumps of grass matter in them. Various insects scuttled back and forth on the sidewalk on their meaningless and hurried tasks, moving silently between pebbles and chunks of dirt.
Adam was careful not to step on any of the cracks. He feared that he looked foolish bypassing all of the broken areas, but his superstition about such things usually commanded his actions.
He bit his lip and clenched his fists. The fear was starting to affect him, attempting to paralyze his legs and numb his mind into turning back. He fought the feeling with all his might but being somewhat of a small person who never did posses an abundance of self-confidence or strength, he felt the fear gradually winning over his mind as well as his body.
He readily admitted to himself that where he was heading was enough to frighten any person, large or small, into retreating back the way they came, but he forced himself to move along driven by the one part of him that almost always overrode all other aspects of his personality�curiosity.
He had always been a curious person. Curious about science, religion, nature and everything in between. He often mused to himself that he would be a giant in any of those fields due to his desire to learn; but he also fully realized his limitations, which prohibited him from reaching any great heights in the aforementioned areas.
However, he was generally at peace with his place in the world. One need not prove their self to the rest of the world to achieve great things was a philosophy that he lived by and firmly believed in.
The sun was merging fast with the horizon. Its remaining light illuminated only a fraction of the landscape, leaving in its wake the inevitable approach of night. Overhead, dark pillows of clouds were gathering, adding to the ominous scene and threatening rain at any moment. The sidewalk hindered Adam�s every step positioning chunks of dirt and concrete at nearly every spot as if challenging anyone to tread on it without difficulty.
Adam could see the house clearly now; it looked exactly the same way he remembered. He looked it over, making irrelevant mental notes as he did so. He noted the sagging roof and windows coated with dirt and observed the front porch beams, warped and twisted like the rotting teeth on a witch�s face. He saw the garage squatting obscenely off to the side of the house as if it were a sidekick to the neighborhood bully. The building, as a whole, had a sinister disposition to it, taunting anyone foolish enough to venture onto its grounds.
But the nightmares he had been suffering from forced him to dispel any notion of turning back. They were getting progressively worse and he knew that somehow the house was connected with them.
The clouds began to release a heavy drizzle, just enough to nudge Adam to seek shelter in the house, although he still hesitated to do so. In his pocket he clenched a small and yellowed photograph. He�d carried it with him for years, not being sure why, except for the feeling that it would reveal its purpose to him one day. In it a small boy was sitting on a front porch in an aged rocking chair. On his lap sat a thin gray cat which was whiling away time as cats do so well. He remembered that cat. Its name was Mickey and it had been his best friend through many lonely times. He remembered how he cried when Mickey had died. He hadn�t meant to do it; it was only the innocent foolishness of a young boy bored by the neglect from his parents and lack of friends.
His desire for thrills had unfortunately manifested itself in a horrible way. He wore his terrible decision like an anchor, heavy and unyielding in its burden, but
he also recalled the satisfaction he had felt afterwards. It was as if part of his childhood was an evil, separate entity, void of any morals or conscience.
Adam tucked the photograph back into his pocket and started to walk toward the house. He glanced around nervously, fully aware of any impending situations that he might encounter and confident in his ability to handle them.
The two front windows near the top of the house glared down at him like a shark eyeing a seal, full of stupidity and ravenous cunning. But what truly disturbed him was something in one of the windows. A heavy shadow set against the tattered and torn curtains, apparently of a young boy.
Adam swung his head back to the front door. He did not want to scare off whoever was in the house, although he had a gut feeling that that would not be possible. He stepped onto the front porch, wincing at the protesting boards under his feet. A light suddenly appeared inside and immediately cast shadows against the windows. Adam began to hesitate, but memories of the nightmares he�d been suffering from quickly shuttled him back into action.
The front door creaked open for him revealing the living room. The fact that it was unlocked did not register to him until he was inside the house. He looked the room over, puzzled that no one was in sight. Did they switch the lights on and then abruptly leave? And if so, then why?
He glanced to his right, down the hallway and into the kitchen, poorly lit by moonlight and showing only vague silhouettes of what it contained.
It was as empty as the front room. Old utensils lay scattered across the dusty countertop and antique appliances huddled in every corner. Cobwebs dangled in the air from long dead spiders and a clock, its hands frozen in time, filled a small niche on a far wall. The memories he had there flooded his mind. The times his mother had cooked his favorite meal, vegetable beef soup, and served it to him on a giant stainless steel tray. The time he helped paint the pantry and wound up getting more paint on himself than the walls. The time Mickey had gotten into the garbage and dragged out the remains of a fish dinner. He was caught red handed trying to clean up the mess.
He suppressed a laugh as he walked over to the window above the sink. It afforded a perfect view of the backyard. Adam gazed through the foggy glass and back into his childhood. He saw a small boy galloping happily around the yard
tossing a baseball in the air. He saw his mother calling out to the boy about his soup being ready. He watched Mickey gracefully meandering along the perimeter of the yard, sniffing at various intervals and watching overhead for imaginary predators.
And then something happened that sent a cold chill down Adam�s spine�Mickey looked directly at him. The cat tilted its furry head to one side as if it were observing its former owner. It bared its tiny, razor sharp teeth at him and hissed loudly. The impossibility of what he had just witnessed hardly had time to register before Mickey vanished.
The prospect of seeing ghosts, much less, malevolent feline ones, did not appeal to Adam in the least. His sanity was trying to betray him, attempting to
manipulate his thoughts and beliefs to its liking. But he would not bow to its attack. He concluded that he was merely imagining things.
The noise from the upstairs, a thick heavy sound reminiscent of an oversize man plodding back and forth, jolted him back to reality. Should he continue to investigate? Or should he cut his losses, exit the house and learn to live with the nightmares? His curiosity demanded that he continue and he felt powerless to deny it.
The stairs ascended up towards the darkness of the upper level of the house. Each one offered its platform to his feet, an invitation to the mysteries of the strange noises up above and all they represented.
As he stepped on the stairs the sounds suddenly reverted to moans and incoherent whispers. Fear was now confronting his curiosity and challenging it head on. He wished he had brought some form of weapon, although he had a hunch that those types of tools would do no good in a place like this.
When he reached the top of the staircase, an unmistakable aura of despair and evil overtook him, filling his mind with hopelessness and corrupting even his most distant and vague memories. It took every ounce of strength he had to overcome it and begin to advance towards the door that stood at the end of the hallway. He feared the door, or what lay beyond it, and he found himself shuffling towards it rather slowly. Thin slices of light framed it on all sides, confirming the fact that someone�or something, was inside the room.
Quick scans of his childhood
only revealed the distant memory of which room it was�his old bedroom. With the reassurance of that fact as ammunition, he felt newfound courage to open the door.
The light temporarily blinded him but quickly subsided to a sterile white glow similar to the waiting room in a hospital. He searched the room from wall to wall but found only periodic shadows cast from a bright moon hanging outside of
the window.
�Many midnights have passed since you�ve been here,� the familiar voice said from behind him.
Its cold tone wrapped itself around Adam�s spine. With his heart in his throat, he turned to confront the voice well aware of the face it belonged to. The ghostly form of the small boy stood in the doorway.
�Yes I know,� Adam said and waited for the response. The figure cast a knowing glance at him. It let a chilling smile escape and gestured towards the window on the far side of the room. Outside of it was his old backyard framed by withered trees and shrubs; it offered the same view as the window in the kitchen, which was directly below it.
He gazed into the yard. Unlike before, there was nothing there, only patches of faded green and brown grass with an aged rusty chain link fence encompassing it.
And then an unexpected and frightening scene caught his eye. In the far corner, near the old tool shed that his dad and uncle had built, was a small wooden cross. The carvings on it were too small to read but he instantly recognized it as Mickey�s grave.
Adam began to sweat when the mud encrusted paw shot out of the ground, knocking over the tombstone that he had constructed so many years earlier to mark his pet�s final resting place. A small head, deformed by decay, emerged immediately after next to the arm, more bone than flesh or fur; and hollow black voids were all that remained of its eyes, giving it a particularly frightening visage. It flung its head up to where Adam was standing and bared its rotting fangs. An ear splitting shriek accompanied its gaze sending Adam into the outer boundaries of insanity.
He stumbled backward and crashed to the floor, but quickly got to his feet and ran for the door. It hardly surprised him that the apparition was gone and the door was locked tight.
Behind him the sounds of wood splintering filled the room. He rushed back to the window and froze in terror at the sight. The grave was completely ripped open and black muddy paw prints led away from it and up to the house. He looked down, although his sanity begged him not to.
There, approximately ten feet below the window were the remains of Mickey, clawing its way up to the room. What was left of its face was twisting in a malevolent display of evil and hatred for its former owner. It had forced Adam�s conscience to help it and reveled in the fact that now, after many midnights had passed, its retribution was finally at hand.
