I took a couple of steps back to look more closely at the exterior of the house, and I noticed just how neglected it was. From the road I could see that there was ivy up to the window sills, now much closer I could see the damage it had caused, it had pulled the majority of the rendering off the bricks. The windowsills were rotting as well, like the gate; the varnish obviously had not been replaced in a long time, so the wood had been exposed to the elements. The one remaining window at the front of the house was filthy and cracked; it looked as if the slightest movement would send it shattering to the ground. I moved cautiously away from that window and looked up at the roof from a few steps back. It had lost a few tiles, the remnants of which could be seen in the grass. The television aerial, which was hanging off the chimney precariously, did not look like it would last very much longer. The guttering was blocked, full of dead leaves, which had started to decompose because they had been there so long. All of the other first floor windows were boarded up from the inside after being broken by vandals or such-like. I wondered who had made the effort. The house was so derelict it was a prime target for vandals.
I moved back closer to the exterior; the door was still swinging on its hinges, banging gently every time. I dreaded to think what it would be like at night when the wind really picked up. Some one had obviously kicked it in. I hesitantly pushed it ajar and poked my head around it into the house. The first thing to hit me was the stench, a mixture of a horrible animal smell and a musty damp smell. I jerked back not sure if I wanted to continue but my curiosity got the better of me. I took my first step inside and was astonished by the interior of the house. I should have guessed it would be a wreck, after seeing the disrepair of the exterior, but this still managed to shock me. After only a few careful steps I had nearly managed to trip over several times. The carpets were ripped and moth eaten curling up from the floor. It was very dingy in there because the majority of the windows were boarded up, not letting the autumn sunshine into the dilapidated house. However, there were a few rays that managed to find their way into the house through the cracks in the boards or the only clear window. These few rays failed to light the big room though, leaving it shadowy. I tried to avoid falling over the junk mail pile in the hall, it was so big that it was easy to avoid. I resisted the urge to pick up a piece and open it, as although no one was likely to collect it all, it was not my mail to open. I kept hearing noises which made me very conscious of the environment I was in, rustling of paper or a creaking floor board, both of which made me jump several times. They some how made me feel that I was not alone, although I could not see anyone else. My sight was not particularly good though in this badly lit room, it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the little light available. I could then see how the patterned wallpaper was peeling from the walls due to the damp atmosphere, and the cobwebs were hanging in the corners of the room and between the furniture. The oddments of furniture were all in various states of collapse. There were visible signs of squatters – tins and cans – betraying signs of human habitation in the not-so-distant past. In the thick cobwebs were dead moths, dust and trapped insects, which had not been cleared for a long time.
I was tempted to go upstairs, but did not trust the staircase; after all, if something had happened to me in this house, I had the feeling that I would not be found for some time. There were broken spindles and the carpet had pulled away from the treads. I moved through to the back of the house, and ended up in a much brighter lit kitchen-diner. The house was by no means a small house; I was amazed by how the owner had let it get so run down and ruined. There was a tap dripping every few minutes into a sink full of lime scale and grime. I soon got distracted from this by the view out of the window, my first glimpse of the back of the house. It was very much like the front garden but not filled with all the rubbish, it was just a wilderness. There was a stagnant pond to one side of the garden, filled with algae, and a lot more probably. At the bottom of the wilderness was a run down covered area of some sort. There was no path down to it, and I did not fancy picking my way through all the nettles and thistles to get a closer look. When I had finished surveying the garden I turned my attention back to the house, which had gone eerily quiet. The front door was not banging anymore, there were no creaking floorboards to be heard, and I could not hear the rustling of paper in the hall. All that could be heard were the birds outside and the tap dripping insistently. Feelings of guilt overcame me, I felt like I should not have been there uninvited and that this was a sign for me to leave. I moved swiftly to the front door and walked briskly out of the house, pulling the front door behind me, up the path again, the nettles already flattened from my first approach. When I reached the gate I took one last look at the abandoned house, before taking that final step onto the pavement and continuing my journey having satisfied my curiosity.
