The luxurious, dry heat expelling from the vents in my car blasted me. Although my skin felt like sandpaper and my sinuses were scorched, the thought of getting out of my car and stepping onto the damp, overgrown field seemed worse. Grass that was once chartreuse had faded to a coffee color with a straw-like texture. The late October breeze forced the grass back and forth—the immobility nearly too unnatural to watch. I asked for this. After what seemed like hours, I was bombarded with the thick scent of must as I creeped open my anxious door. The familiar screech echoed through the scarlet sky. I never did get my door fixed. Grass crunched under my feet as I inched toward the house. The wind whistled around me like ghosts singing a sad song. I quickly learned that everything here was dead. The full moon’s illumination was my only source of light in the field that seemed to be getting longer with each step I took. I wrapped my red flannel tightly across my torso, shielding myself from the harsh autumn air. The wood on the outside of the house was worn down with gaping holes in multiple places. The grand front door, which was probably once spectacular and elegant, sat at the front of the building pathetically. The paint, displaying patches of chipped crimson, was almost completely gone. I scanned over the house, fixing my attention on the windows. The brown shutters banged violently, causing the wood underneath to bellow in response to the shutters’ anger. All of the windows were boarded up except for one. I must have kept my eyes locked on that window for at least ten minutes straight. The shadowy figure that lured me here faded into view. I don’t remember much else.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Kutztown chapter.