Have you ever walked into a vacant foreclosed house that was previously occupied by good-for-nothing vandals? Occupied is the wrong word, better to say broken into, previously broken into by good-for-nothing vandals. Well, have you?
It’s kinda creepy.
From the street,
the vandalized foreclosed house looked like any other two-story Mediterranean inside a gated community, completely healthy and full of family love, maybe even a Golden Retriever and a newborn baby keeping each other happy.
But behind the front door was nothing but teenage depravity. A wasteland.
I couldn’t believe what had been scrawled on the drywall in ballpoint pen.
Threats, stupidities, vulgarities, sketches of private parts and crazy demons, slang, and the acronym MOE, which apparently stands for
Money Over Everything
——-//——-
At the base of the stairs, there was a simple warning:
Don’t Go Into The Attic After 10 PM
After reading this, to be honest, my trip up to the second floor was worrisome. What was I getting myself into? Why couldn’t I just be sitting on the beach instead of walking around this potentially haunted house. What happened inside the attic after 10 PM? Would I be murdered if I went in there in six more hours?
Sure enough, directly beneath the scuttle, the only piece of furniture inside the vacant property: a chair.
The scuttle panel was pushed aside, evidence of recent usage.
I stepped onto the chair and considered shimmying into the forbidden area, but then I heard a shuffle under the rafters and conjured a demon spirit resembling the demonic face that had been drawn on the backside of the bathroom door downstairs.
The scream on that face, all the way down to the demon’s uvula, and the blood-veined eyeballs, was enough to make the hair on my forearms stand.
Strewn beneath the opened attic scuttle: dozens of plastic Black & Mild butts.
They looked like whistles, like cries of help in the dead of night.
I left wondering if anyone came to their resuce.
