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missmisnomer · 3 years

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I haven't written anything in a long time, but I felt a stab of inspiration last night that wouldn't leave me alone until I got it out of my system. ✒ So here's a short piece inspired by every old abandoned house you've ever walked past. What might it say, if you'd take a moment to listen?

~ 📖 𝐀 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐲 📖 ~

I'd known happiness once.

When my timbers were freshly hewn and my paint but barely dried, the sharp spice of my glossy lacquered panels filled these rooms. Love was everywhere you looked, from the painstakingly carved ridges of my cherry wood mantle, to the expertly hung gable that sat atop my crown. My pipes pulsed with life, even in the coldest of winters, bringing water and warmth where it was needed most. Children would race through my halls, the rumbling of their little feet sending shivers through my floorboards. There were fights that woke the morning birds. Kisses stolen under window sills. Muffled tears that were shared only with pillows.

And there was music. I loved their music; so lively, reverberating through my walls as laughter rang out into the night. I've sheltered frightened mothers as they brought their babes into this world, and caught their last dying breath as it drifted out my windows. I've seen sorrow. I've seen fear. But through it all, there was life.

Yes, I'd known happiness.

The days grew quieter. I felt dust settle in places that had once been dutifully swept. My paint peeled. My shingles rotted. The tiniest of life forms scuttled through my cabinets and across my floors, treading in dark rooms no one else entered. And yet, I was happy. Peaceful nights spent in the warmth of my firelight, long days on the porch, soaking in the sun. A gentle voice, speaking in hushed tones to a loved one. That soft heartbeat, growing weaker and weaker. Quiet tears. I would be there for them, even as my foundation crumbled into dust, even if no one recognized my face. They were my family, and I their home.

I'd known happiness.

It became quiet. But I was used to that, the glittering lights and parties ending long ago. Children no longer ran down my hallways. But I did not mind. I had my family, and that was all that mattered.

How long had it been quiet?

My pipes grew cold. Ivy clung and clawed its way up my siding, sprouting over the filth and my rot. My bowels were heavy with damp, curtains a banquet only for moths.

The front door rattled. Was it the tell-tale jangle of keys, or just an angry gust of wind? Surely they'd be back soon. And it was my job to be here, waiting for them.

I'd known…

A window shattered, then another. Rocks clattered against the dust-coated banister, tumbling down the stairs like a drunken sailor. Young ones entered, stamping their feet to remove the snow from their heavy boots. Hot breath billowed forth from their blue lips as their eyes wandered over the peeling wallpaper and cobweb strewn chandelier. The settees stood motionless, encased in plastic like space-age mummies ready to be brought back to life.

Here.

They were here, they were back. And I'd waited, here, for them, through the wind and the rain and the snow and all those years, for them-

I felt a tickle along my walls, the angry hiss of air preceding the paint as it came blasting out of the small metal cans held in their hands. They joked amongst each other, drawing and writing colorful abstractions with reckless abandon. They prowled through my parlor. Cavorted through my kitchen. The silence was broken by the crashing of furniture long left abandoned. Tiny mammals scurried away in fright at the storm that had come barreling through, disturbing their peace.

But I did not mind. I drank in their laughter, relished in their leering as they gazed up at my rafters with disdain. Each shattered picture frame shattered the silence, a honeyed wine for my parched senses.

I was drunk off of it, a lost soul finding an untapped barrel of limitless potential. They were here, and there was joy. No more quiet, no more loneliness-

And then...

They were gone.

Leaves whispered across my cherry floorboards, blown in through the holes they left behind.

A crow cawed, somewhere in the old oak tree out back.

Quiet.

A strip of crown molding peeled, dropping to the floor. Short nails laid exposed, like sharp fangs glittering in the moonlight as they awaited their hapless prey. There was a yelp from the old woman that had started sleeping in the drawing room, her bare feet falling prey to their bite as her drunken mutterings carried her hobbling off into the night.

Quiet.

Chunks of plaster flaked away, landing like clumps of dandruff in the foyer. Three men parked their car in the yard, driving carelessly across the overgrown patches of weeds. Their crowbars squealed like angry pigs, prying loose brass fixtures and ripping out copper pipes, gutting me of what little luster I had left. The clawfoot tub came waddling awkwardly down the stairs, as it too left for good. And yet, I felt a flutter of excitement in these old timbers, ready to offer them a roof to rest under, a warm shelter from the cold, a place to lay their weary heads-

And then, they were gone.

Once...

The harsh thumping of hammers rang out, securing plywood over my windows and over my doors, like nails driven into a coffin. Thump. Thump. Thump. My pulse, sluggish. Why? A stake pierced into the soft flesh of the old rose garden out front, where the bird feeder once stood. A sign was erected in its place.

"Keep out?"

Please, come inside.

Just a moment, that's all I'd ask for. Come inside and drink some tea, play one of those silly games, read a book. The squirrels have started using them for their nests, but I'm sure there must be some good pages left.

Or break me. I wouldn't even mind: I still have some pieces left. There's that ivory inlaid nightstand in the parlor, or how about the silver mirror in the attic? They haven't taken all of me. So come inside? Please?

Just don't stay out there, don't walk away, don't leave me in the dark-

Years passed.

Quiet.

Years of quiet. Years of emptiness. Years...alone.

Waiting. Hoping.

Rotting.

Fading away.

Happiness…

I'd known it once.

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