Advice

A Story by Bioshadow

A horror-ish story

The Old man, the one on The Bridge. The one near the house. I remember his words. I will remember the scars on my ears his words brought. He told me not to go into the house. Well, told is not the best word, he more of Advised me not to go. I met him at the old bridge in the woods. He looked very familiar. “Don’t go into that house boy”, he said. “It’s not safe there.”

I went in the house anyway. In the house, there was silence. Not the silence of the forest. In the forest, there was still sound, but it was a peaceful, silent, sound. This was a silent where not even your own breath makes a sound, where you’re afraid you’ll be found. Where the absence of sound steals every sound you make and fills the hole made there by the silence. I sat there alone in the silence. I move across the hallway. It’s so silent.

I look at a door. I thought the dust on it spelled “Do Not Open!” but it was only my imagination. The door did have letters on it. They looked foreign, I’d never seen them before. Some of them looked English, but some were completely different. I turned to leave, and as I did, I noticed a mirror. I was shocked. It wasn’t the mirror that shocked me. It wasn’t the image of the door that shocked me. It was the letters on the door. The letters were English. If looked at directly, it was impossible to tell what they said, but in the mirror, they said: The Stairs.

I saw the stairs. The stairs were the only flooring in this house without carpet. I walked up them. There was only one door; it was at the end of the hall. The other doorways had their doors stripped from them. I walked to the door at the end. I opened up the door. Inside the room was nothing. Nothing exept a door. The Door. The door wasn’t attached to the wall, or the floor, or even the ceiling. It was just in the middle of the room. I approached it. I opened the door. Inside looked like poorly blown glass. I stuck my hand into it. It just felt as if I had stuck my hand into air. I walked all the way through.

When I walked through, the door locked. The room was now furnished. I walked down the hall. I noticed the doorframes had doors in them. I looked inside each one. They were bedrooms. I walked downstairs on the now carpeted stairs. The door with the dust on it had opened to a kitchen. It was like I had moved back in time fifty years. I walked outside. That was my mistake. I started aging. I had gone back fifty years. Time seemed to flow around me, and I was aging with it.

I was now incredibly old. I walked to the old bridge. A young boy, of about fifteen walked by. “Don’t go into that house boy”, I advised, “It’s not safe there.” I didn’t want him to face the same fate I did. Then it hit me. The boy, was me.