Just Gonna Leave This Here

[Hated Aries]

I had come upon that house purely by accident. It was not my choice to endure a night in such a place, although it seemed some ethereal force had chosen instead. The sky was absent of clouds on this spring afternoon when I had begun a day’s cycling but quickly grew overcast, turning the colorful gardens of the town into dismal lands harboring dark shadows. The streets became unfamiliar in this growing bleakness and I had, through my own misdirection, taken a street I had never traveled. This path led to an uncommon road for the town, covered solely in dirt and rocks with weeds creeping up the sides. I had known at this point that I was being taken somewhere not of my own will but by that of something much older. Through all my thoughts at the time of riding, I could not force my body to execute any maneuver but to continue pedaling forward. I finally accepted my fate around the time the downpour began.
The house came into sight sometime later when the sun was mere minutes away from the horizon. It was architecturally unique from the other houses on the road, its front adorned with Victorian columns like those seen on plantations farther south. The columns were weathered, lending the house a decomposing look. The sides had characteristic mold climbing the old wooden shell. The lawn was uncultured, only adding to the point that the house was abandoned. It was only at this point that I noticed I had regained my free will. Or that my choices just happened to coincide with whatever it was leading me on. I pulled the bicycle off the road and carefully made my way through the soggy grass and onto the house’s veranda.
My clothes were drenched, although there seemed to be no alternative at the time. Thankfully there was no wind with the brutal rainfall, saving me from the threat of hypothermia. Only looking back now did I find it curious that, from my point on the veranda, the sun seemed to set at a deeper angle than a time between the solstices would suggest. At the time, I had been studying the columns, hoping that I would not have to enter the house. Closer to it, I could sense some foreign dread, although it only struck when I turned more favorably towards the house rather than away from it. As the night set on, the air grew more frigid, biting at the tips of my fingers, then to the rest of my body through my wet clothes. Although the idea at first seemed foreign, I slowly gave way to a pulling force that led me to try the antique handle. The brass was chipped in some places, although curiously bright along the top and sides, as if a hand had continued to use it for the years the rest of the house decayed.
As I entered the room, I could see that the house was much more ancient than I had previously liked to believe. The floor plan consisted of a large, vacant room with an attached kitchen, and a small hallway to the left, leading to doors on opposite sides, presumably a bedroom and a bathroom. The only furniture in the main room was a small coffee table with a thick book covered in black leather resting perfectly centered on it. There were handprints in the dust on both sides of the tome, alluding again to the visitor who had used the door previously. A fireplace sat against the left wall, thankfully undisturbed. My nerves were racking with the thought of intruding on such a place. Although my senses fought against me, my body moved, as if from memory, to the table, kneeling down and placing my hands in the dustless spots. I noticed now that a small ribbon attached to the spine of the book was slid between two pages near the end. My right hand voluntarily slid itself between these pages and opened the book. The pages were covered in some foreign text and a blueprint for some strange contraption. The page seemed painfully familiar, bringing forth dark images of days forgotten and days yet to happen. My mind once again pulled me away from the table, but my body disobeyed. I flipped the page again, and as my eyes scanned the text, some deep horror awoke in me.
I scrambled from my knees, skewing the dust on the table and nudging the book from its perfectly centered orientation. I knew at this point that this book was not safe for a wholesome mind, much less whatever mind had made the trek out here to leave the prints on the table and the spots on the doorknob. I turned to leave the house, deciding it better to brave the rainy night than to endure this abysmal house any longer. Try as I might, my feet guided me to the small hallway, and to the left door, that gaped open. Inside was the machine from the book, copper and aluminum shining in the dark house, although from no apparent source of light. I walked to it, my curiosity accepting whatever fate my body would bring me to. It was the frame of a cube, curious for no other reason than the bright orb hanging in the middle. There seemed to be etchings in the same text as the book, perfectly aligned around it. I reached out to grab it, and I felt my arms being pushed away. Through all common sense, I continued to push, until I finally felt my fingertips grasp cold metal.
I awoke the next day when the sun blazed through a hole in the curtains of the room. The device was gone. More curious, however, was the lack of markings in the carpet. Dust was settled evenly around the entire room, save for where I had been laying. I stood up and brushed myself off. My clothes had dried overnight, thankfully, but were now stiff. I made my way from the room, choosing to accept the previous night as only a nightmare, fabricated by a confused mind. The main room suffered the same as the bedroom, barren of table and book, only to be replaced by dust. I once again credited this to my sleep. Exiting the house, I noticed the doorknob was covered in mold, as if it hadn’t been used in years. My bicycle was still perched on one of the columns, and I took off the direction I remembered having come. As I neared the street I had originally deviated from, I noticed an elderly man sitting on his porch. It was odd, as most people would still be asleep at this time of morning. He stared at me with a deep intent, and I slowed as I rode past him, eventually halting to meet his eyes.
“What business ya got at that house, boy?” His voice was raspy and demanding.
“I got lost on my way home. I decided to stop and get out of the rain.” He looked uneasy with my answer, as if he had expected more.
“Well, ya don’t go near that house no more, understand? You don’t know what kind a’ things went on, and ya don’t wanna know, neither. There‘s some things in this world we humans ain‘t supposed t‘meddle with, and them folks made the mistake a‘ meddlin‘.” The old man stood, and with surprising agility made his way back into his house. My curiosity wanted for me to call to him, but my judgment decided it better to not pester him. I had still believed that the previous night had simply been a dream.

[Hated Aries]

DAT FORMATTING.