Hunter Point Narrative

The mouldy, rotting, brown house stood in front of Emily, only fear keeping her feet planted to the ground. Moaning and creaking noises being projected from the house. The grass was damp from the evening fog and every time she took a step the mud squelched. The bottom step squeaked as she applied pressure with her foot, she let out a sigh of relief as the old structure hadn’t swallowed her up. The door, slightly off colour from the rest of the house, loomed over her like a giant as he reached for the brass door handle. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current, the musty smell of a house that had been long abandoned filled Emily’s nose. It was dim and uninviting. The furniture dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble to dust if she was to touch it. Mould ate away at

What was once a beautiful but small lawn with grass is now a patch of dead grass with dirt exposing itself under the grass. What was once the creaky barn doors are completely destroyed, with broken glass on the ground on the outside, leading to the inside. What was once the living room where I had spent so much time watching television and playing games with my siblings, now has its carpet completely torn up, walls indented, and closet in complete shambles with light gleaming sharply through the holes of the closet from holes that were made by vandals who never knew the true value of the humble abode that I used to reside in. My old home, since being lived in by me and my family has since been abandoned by the family that we had entrusted the house to previously. Now the house just stays there, an eerie empty shell of what it used to be. A place where I was safe and happy, now a dark and scary place that no one deserves to live in, a place that humans have indeed used well, so well that there is nothing left of what it used to be. That image of the house was the last I saw it, back in 2010, It is possible now that the house had since been destroyed, with the memories that have been carved into the walls, fireplace, windows, closets, and bedrooms, are now nothing more but a blur of destroyed objects that will one day be removed, as people pass by the home that once was will never be able to see its clarity, but instead will only be able to see the blur of colors protruding from the exterior of the house, or perhaps the brown of the barn like doors, or the patches of green still rising from the dead grass that surrounds it, until eventually, it simply disappears completely invisible to the city that used it ever so

Two rooms are visible in this photograph, both of which are decaying and devoid of life. The rooms are separated by a decrepit doorway, and this particular doorway has a noticeable crack running along the top of it. The room in which the photographer is not standing shows evident signs of abandonment and is filled with the weathered pages of rotting books and wooden bookcases that have fallen over. There are bookcases along the back wall of the room, and the bookcases’ shelves have books piled on them in disheveled heaps, with some of the books leaning against others. Rusting metal beams protrude from the room’s ceiling, which is composed of splintering wooden panels. The corrosion of the beams and the degradation of the ceiling panels alludes to a lack of maintenance on the room. This portrays a sense of abandonment and the removal of society from this particular building, since the building has been seemingly left to rot, abandoned by its former inhabitants. The disheveled and seemingly haphazard arrangement of the books and pages convey a sense of chaos and disorder, and the yellowness of the books’ pages is indicative of age and decay. It is apparent that these books have not been in use for many years, as the books are misplaced, piled on top of one another in disorganized heaps, and rotting. Likewise, the

The roof looked battered and dilapidated. The roof was pointy, like the point on a witch’s hat. The roof sloped at odd angles. So much so that you would look at it and wonder, what would happen if you skied off the roof in the winter? The house had droopy, wooden shutters on the windows that were hung crookedly on purpose. The house was a yellow beige color with odd leadlight

We Entered the Fully furnished antique home avoiding the broken glass pieces stuck around the perimeter of the window. The wallpaper was peeling and the furniture was eaten up by mice and rats. We walk around the room for five minutes silent until Grayson breaks the silence of course saying “Woah creepy” pointing at the large family portrait with each face smudged out with black ink. “Well let's look around then just leave” I say with Aleisha backing me up. “Nah nah” Grayson alluded in perfect harmony with my brother adding “Leigh Settle its just a house an old house”. “The Pattison Murder house where like everyone in the family was apparently killed by the son” Aleisha interjected. “Key word there, apparently” Grayson laughed rolling his eyes.I let out a slight sigh as I walked down the Hall with Aleisha. The Floors creaked and parts of the ceiling were smothered with Black

The Victorian home stood alone amidst acres of fields and thickets. Rain poured down intermittently, and clouds covered the entire grey scene. It was October, and a dreary day in Southampton. A black sedan pulled down the rainy, one-lane country avenue and up the circular drive to the foreboding home. It

The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath me as I stumbled through the door to this house that sat on the edge of town. It had lain forlorn for at least a year now, a curtain of moss and debris littered the lawn and porch, the interior of the house was

The house had been abandoned in the great depression. When the land around it had become a dust bowl there had been no point in staying or trying to sell. The roof now sagged in the middle and were it not for a hole that let the pooled water escape, it would have caved in long ago. The paint that had been white was not so peeled off that it looked out of place amid the dark of rotting wood. The windows were boarded up by the family who thought they would return one day. it was a fine house in it's day, but for most of it's life it had only sheltered insects and the occasional bird. Even the once glossy stairs were too weak to bare weight. Inside was dank, gloomy, cold. The furniture, untouched in decades, was decaying and frayed. The floor

Of all the houses in the neighborhood, hers was the most unkempt. The small garden in front of her house was crippled, with every delicate flower in a dying stage. Pesky weeds sprouting from the dirt were the only source of green in her yard, while most of the windows had small cobwebs invading the corners. However, the most noticeable defect was the yellow house paint, chipping from harsh weather and unforgivable decades. In all, her house looked forsaken.

The girl bolted to the door, eyes darting wildly through the smoke-filled room. The flames licked at her heels as she ran, barefoot, out the front door of the once friendly dwelling. She panted, her glazed eyes looking back at her former home. Her small body collapsed onto the pavement, tears crashing down her tanned face. She heard the muffled cries from her parents in still inside. The parents she couldn’t protect. The parents she killed.

Now the ramshackle dwelling is a place people say seeps dread. A spot where the sun isn’t quite as bright, the dust oppressive, and the teeming, yellowed weeds that camouflage its former glorious gardens are ragged and

It was a Tuesday. The humidity hung onto passersby like a second skin. Mesquite trees showered the street with seeds, cracked and chalkly. The motley of suburban homes stretched for miles. Mathias walked home. Cicadas screeched. A dog barked. Cars sped by. He traveled at a snail's pace, dragging

A Tale of Two Graves It was cold. As I walked up towards the white house, I noticed this because hedges on the driveway were frozen with ice. The visible fog that surrounded the farmhouse let in ghostly light, which hit the world the way a flashlight beam would hit the inside of a darkened room if water were it’s medium. One would say the air was smudged, as it blurred the vision so. The shadows, so blurred and so faded, contrasted well with the off-white sides of the old house. The paint had been peeling for quite some time without repair and created monstrous, long shadows on the wall in this sunrise. My stomach rumbled as I walked; I had forgotten my lunch.

Ivy vines climbed their way up the rotten splintered wooden exterior of the two story building. It sat on a cracked concrete foundation and none of the windows had remained intact. A mouldy aroma was emitted from the old manor. It was clear that nobody had lived in it for the past century. A storm cloud drifted in front of the sun and the boys were suddenly enveloped in darkness. In the distance crashing water could be heard coming from the Potomac river. A bolt of lighting struck behind the property and the booming thunder snapped the boys out of their astonished trance.

After yet another dead end, I continued to walk down this carpet of concrete, knowing it would soon mold into a jungle of green. Every door hung by its last hinge, groaning with every gust of wind. Each apartment building had a roof that had either altogether caved in, or looked like a depressing Souffle. All of the