Short Story : Our Old House

1302 WordsMar 6, 20156 Pages
Short Story: Our Old House: Rowland Addison was not a happy kid; not even close to it. It was a horrible day, just one mishap after another. It had all started with school. As usual, he had been late. As usual, he had failed the test. As usual, he was picked last for dodge ball in P.E. As usual, nothing was going his way and anyone could see it. He was at the bottom of the barrel; the lowest of the lows, but at least he knew it couldn’t get much worse or could it? Sighing, he dragged his red high- tops and allowed his dark brown hair to hang in his brown eyes, as he climbed the path to his troublesome, old house. Historic, significant, a true piece of old Toronto was what everyone else called it, but as far as he could see it was just…show more content…
No sounds from the living room or kitchen, either. Nothing at all to signify that his mom was even there. After years of school- walk- key- door- mom, it was easy to notice the silence. He shoulder the door open, failing to catch any sign of his mom’s presence and stumbled over threshold to meet more silence. Tossing his backpack in the hallway, he searched the house for his mom. Unfortunately, there was no mom in the kitchen, no mom in the basement, no mom in the living room, so he gave up and headed for a snack. ‘Hello, how doeth thou openeth this contraption?’ Spinning around quickly, surprised to hear an unknown voice in his house; he turned to face a semi-transparent old man casually sitting on his couch holding his remote trying to turning on his T.V. ‘Stopeth gaping and helpeth me turneth this on, thou hilding child.’ Stunned he gazed at the 85 year-old man dressed in a white shirt and brown britches; he had greyish- silver hair and brown eyes hidden behind a pair of squared framed glasses. Feeling terrified, Rowland slowly backed away from the entrance of the living room, hoping to make a run for the front door of the house before he got possessed or something. Quickly, he turned to sprint to the door only to face the same man who was just sitting his couch playing with the remote. ‘Hello, wherefore so gasted.’ Grinned the un-invited stranger. ‘I am not going to hurteth you, son.’ ‘Who are you? Why are you in my
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