Taking Shelter
20250427
Prompt from DailyPrompt.com
The rain was light but unyielding, and his clothes were soaked through, the cheap cotton heavy and chafing against his skin. But he still hesitated. Weighing the building up.
Two-story. Dull grey stone on the ground floor shifting to brick on the upper. Just like how the leaded windows gave way to sash. The result was ugly, sure, two cottages from different times squashed into a jarring double-decker. And it was out in the middle of nowhere. Well, if you didnât count the highway.
Still seemed strange for it to be sitting abandoned.
The garden was a mass of brambles and stank of rot. The windows were fogged with dust and grime. There was so much moss and vines covering the roof he wasnât sure what state the slates were in.
Better than being out here, though⌠maybe.
He hugged his hands tighter into his armpits. Trying to think straight through the chill and exhaustion and hunger.
Take shelter, or trudge back to the road and hope someone would come by whoâs willing to pick up a sodden hitchhiker?
Getting dark. That tipped the scales.
He picked his way up the front path. Long forgotten gravel grumbling under the leaves with each step.
Just in case, he grabbed the brass knocker, wincing as the cold metal bit his stiff fingers, and gave several sharp raps. But with the wind picking up, robbing what little warmth he had left, he didnât wait long.
The door handle turned easily. The door swung without resistance. The air which hit his nose was stale and musty. Nothing alarming, though.
He stumbled inside, absently wiping his feet, and peered around. Eveningâs gathering gloom filtered through those windows cast everything in dull grey haze. The light from the open door was enough to make out the entryway, but after a cursory glance he pushed it shut to try and keep the cold and rain at bay.
That glance had shown the place was furnished, which surprised him. Maybe an elderly person had lived here and died, and nobody cleaned the place out proper?
While initially comforting, that explanation brought unwanted images of a body festering upstairs. He shuddered and sniffed. Just dust and damp. A stink like that would linger, right? Surely. Especially if closed up like this.
He tried the open doorway on the left. From the hint of tiles heâd seen, this should⌠ah, yes, the kitchen.
While it was dusty and furnished, it was also bare of rotten remnants. He sniffed about and gingerly cracked open the old fridge, then sighed with relief.
Ok. So⌠the house had been properly cleared, just not emptied.
Which hopefully meant there wasnât anything lingeringâŚ
It had one of those old-fashioned iron stoves, already filled, and the basket was full of firewood. Matches sitting on a shelf beside.
As he struck one to light the stove, he saw the note on the table.
âMake yourself at home.â Read the spidery, faded writing. âIâll be right back.â
Prompt was âWrite a vignette about a runaway seeking shelter in an abandoned building.â