So, once, a long time ago, i was walking. i have no idea where to or where from, but i was a run away at the time. i liked being a run away. it gave me a sense of freedom that my parents tried hard to quash. My home life was a wreck; mom and dad were going through a divorce, they just didnt know it yet, so being there was like oh... living with two people who hated each other with the burning passion of a thousand suns.
i knew that the cops were out looking for me. mom always called. not so much that she was worried about where i was, more because she wanted me punished for breaking her rules. i was walking this night, probably close to 1 or 2am, and i noticed a few cops circling the block in front of me. as it was dark and i was in the ghetto part of town, i wasnt walking in enough light for them to notice me from that distance, so i did what any good fugitive would do: i came up with a fast plan to hide somewhere.
on my left was the largest engine plant in town. lots of light, lots of people. on my right, however, two long-abandoned houses, dark, forgotten... inviting. the one right on the corner provided me with an excellent view of the surrounding streets, so i walked through the yard and between the houses to the back, where, as sure as id expected it, there was an old tattered door, barely hanging on by the soul of a hinge. i stepped through into the murk and gloom and waited for my eyes to adjust.
what i wasn't expecting was that the house was full to near overflowing with old antique furniture.
i peered around wide-eyed, in awe, at all the treasures laid out before me. there were old wardrobes and carpets, dressers and vanities, dining tables, chairs, the whole bit! I wandered from room to room, running my hands along dusty smooth wood and rolls of plush oriental-esque rugs. There in the furthest room, there was a set of stairs. there was no railing, and no door or hall at the top. there was nothing but a hole, opening straight up into the night sky.
i took a few tentative steps, and promptly fell through a stair. completely unphased, i pulled my leg free and continued on, careful to stay close to the side of the stair, where the wood seemed more sturdy. The stairs opened up onto a large deck on top of the first story of the house. it would have been an amazing porch, but the longer i think about it, i think it was just a large room that had had its walls and roof removed. there was nothing up there but a door into the side of the upper floor of the old house, which i carefully picked my way over to, making damn sure to avoid boards that looked like they had about had it.
there were three rooms in the top of the house, mostly empty, all covered in graffiti, with broken windows. one room had a small closet with its door slightly ajar. with all the common sense god gave a ferret, i walked right in and peeked inside to see what was in there. it never occurred to me that there could be some drugged out nut-job in there, more than ok with hacking up some dumb kid who disturbed whatever demented thoughts he was dwelling on at the time. The closet was empty. There was a large green couch in that room, too. and 2 windows, looking out over the 2 streets and the intersection.
the windows opened out onto the roof above the porch, providing me with an acceptable escape route should i need it. i settled onto the couch, more or less, for the night. the light from the engine plant was bright in my eyes and kept me awake and the couch stank of rain and mold and cat piss. my nerves were working overtime, listening for the tell-tale footstep of invasion, or a car engine that was a little too well-tuned. I got up to check the windows every 15 minutes or so. it was a long night, but i was completely smitten with abandoned houses from that day on.
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