The wind whistled and blew small tornados of dust off the lime rock road blanketing my clothes in white grit but I walked on. Crickets chirped and as I passed the deserted playground the rusty chains of the swings creaked as they hauntingly swung back and forth and acorns fell on the faded steel slide adding a metallic ping to the eerie melody.
As the sun fell deeper and deeper beneath the trees the darkness grew and the shadows came. A cat yowled and I unconsciously quickened my pace. It wasn’t long before the light faded into nothingness.
The houses on either side of the street were dark but I knew their inhabitants stood watching anonymously, tucked safely behind the shields of various colors of curtains and blinds.
Minutes later I picked my way through the brambles down an overgrown path that served as a long drive toward the rustic farmhouse that I now called home. I stopped for a moment to pull the evil weeds from my socks and stared up at the house and it stared back, its curious face spilling soft yellow light from its eye like windows.
An owl screeched and something I couldn’t quite make out scurried through the grass toward me. Startled I broke for the house, leaped onto the porch and jerked open the door. Stepping inside I removed my jacket, gave it a good shake and then hurriedly closed the door.
As I leaned against the wall, I sighed and thought to myself,
“Why did I ever leave New York?”
“Why did I ever leave New York?”
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