The Things Betwixt...

End of The Ridings...

"Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"  Winner! 11-23-2015

It was on the precipice of a dreadful dreary twilight that I received an envelope at my door. The contents of which was naught but a photograph. It was most peculiar as it depicted a man near the end of his years, asleep in his chair. Oddest of it all, I stood behind him. There was a hurriedly scrawled note on the back that simply said:

End of The Ridings.

I knew well the road in question, and though there was a distinct stirring within that implored me to forget this photograph, I left my hearth that night and made for the address.

Alas, I came upon the lonesome house at the end of The Ridings that stood most unnaturally at the edge of an overgrown causeway. I strolled betwix husks of ashen dead trees lining the walk and amongst the clamor of ravens. As I came up the steps I noted that the victorian home had fallen to disrepair. Malicious ivy had wormed its way up the cracking wood, decaying the house further. Boards creaked and disagreed with each step up the stairs and I came upon a door of faceted glass windows, each with their own jagged cracks.

Within, a firelight flickered, and I spied the silouhette of a man sitting in his chair, fast asleep. A half-drunk glass of wine dangled betwixt his fingers, threatening to spill its contents onto the floor. I was hesitant to knock for fear of startling him, but the door opened on its own. It creaked a cackling that begets pinpricks on the skin as it opened. As I came behind him, the reeking of intoxication wafted into my breaths. He was old, motionless - dead.

A flash blinded me for a moment. Startled, I looked into the lens of a camera.

Word Count - 300

The Ridings is a Street in Oxford, England south of Old Road