On a desolate road far away from the nearest town, nestled between a grove of oak trees with hanging moss and soft swaying grasses, sits an old, quiet house. Sunshine refuses to touch down that far into the gloom that surrounds the home. A murky pond full of secrets rests nearby, waiting patiently for someone to gaze upon its reflection…waiting for a soul to see its face. The decrepit red barn off to the side of the property sags in the permanent wetness that hangs around the home. The barn doors remained chained tightly, containing its inhabitants and their riddles. Deep scratches remain on the ground under the door. Unpacked boxes lay undisturbed around the outside. All of its contents melted and rotten from years of abandonment.

Dark clouds and rain skitter across the shoddy roof in a constant song. Sheets of rain dance to its melody in the form of specters. Large windows, once shiny and new, now lay hazy with age and dust. Inside, where warmth and laughter once emanated happily, is now stale and cold with disuse. The dark wooden floorboards creak with phantoms of the past whenever the wind snakes through the cracks. Up the stairs, all the way down to the right lies the children’s old room. Yellowed wallpaper with smiling rainbows and happy creatures peer into the empty space, waiting for new companions. Two tiny beds only feet apart from each other are lumpy from being jumped on, well-worn through countless bedtime stories and endless nights of nightmares. In the corner, near a toybox holding many treasures, sits an old rocking horse. Its brown fur balding in certain areas, the bridle fraying from the constant pull of tiny fingers. Black wooden legs splintering but holding fast. Its shiny black marble eyes staring into the nothingness left behind. Thunder groans above, and the rocking horse rocks forward slightly. The movement creaks and continues gaining momentum.

Doors slam downstairs, rattling the picture frames left behind in a hurry. Lights flicker in the hallway, bulbs pulsing with pain and neglect. Shadows stretch and slink down the hallway, creeping from room to room. The once-beloved horse sightlessly rocks in silence, reflections of past memories playing across its eyes like a movie. A clock in the hall ticks slowly, counting the minutes of loneliness, marking each heartbeat with finality. The house shudders with sorrow, groaning and stretching, hoping for a family to inhabit its bones once again. Moans and crying rise up like smoke from the locked basement. Deep cold seeps through the house, caressing the seats and cracked dinner table that once held its previous owners, slowly sweeping through each room, searching for someone, anyone nearby. Footsteps and thumps echo from the attic above before retreating back into silence. The sounds of a car trailing up the long driveway makes the rocking horse, and its companions hold their breath. A family approaches. Excited conversation bubbles through the doors. The house smiles, as does the Rocking horse. Another family. Another chance. Maybe this time will go better. Maybe this time, they will stay forever.

This was written by our contributing writer, Isis Jordan.