So Far

through the door and cast his shadow weakly on the opposite wall.  The rest of the wall was streaked with orange and red.  He stepped into the house and the door swung back and forth in the breeze.  It creaked on every pass.  R.C. moved across the room and the wind pushed paper and other debris around on the floor away from him.  The light was fading fast.  Looking left and then right R.C. spotted another door in the growing gloom.  He made his way toward it.

The front door of the house continued to creak and swing.  The wind soughed through a crack in a window next to him.  R.C. listened for a moment.  The air held no other noises than the wind.  He reached out for the doorknob and jumped when the font door slammed shut with a loud bang.  The garbage on the floor settled down, but the wind moaned louder through the window.  R.C. opened the door and stepped into the next room.  He closed the door behind him and then stood still a moment. The room was absolutely silent. The stillness was a great relief.

This room had walls covered in paper with a striped border along the top and the bottom.  The rest of the paper was covered in curly vines of some sort that ended in big sharp thistles.  It was just a picture but in the fading light the vines looked almost as if they were on top of the paper instead of drawn there.  He puzzled over why anyone would want to cover their walls like that.  If somebody wanted thistles all they had to do was step outside.