The Ravages of Time

The wind brought sheets of rain cascading across the earth, drenching everything which had been left exposed. The few unlucky people who had been caught outside on this cold late-fall Vermont night ran for cover, shielding themselves as best they could from the sudden onslaught of water from above. Windows were slammed shut, curtains drawn, and people sequestered themselves away for the long, stormy night.

Amidst the rush to stay dry, one small, squat house on a secluded and lonely drive sat entirely still. The light shining through the curtains of the living room which faced out towards the street was the only sign of life at 15 McAllister Drive. The windows were still open, allowing the rain to soak the inside of the house. In the coming months and years, life came back to the abandoned house. As mold grew in the damp of the floor, the house was reclaimed by nature. For 15 months, the house's 5 rooms would serve as a home to countless creatures, and those wet floors would be walked by everything from spiders and ants, to larger creatures, like the mice which took solace in the relative warmth of the house amidst the long winter months. Not until almost three years later would the house play host to it’s next owner.

“Welcome to 15 McAllister Drive, Mr. Dalton. As you’re aware, repairs are still ongoing, but if you’re interested we will, of course, work with you to ensure that everything is cleared up by the time that you decide to move in.”

James Dalton, at 6 feet 6 inches, almost needed to duck as he walked through the front door. His light brown hair, sticking up in an entirely unruly manner, brushed the yellow paint of the door frame as he passed by. Paint which had, several years before, clearly been an exuberant addition to a cozy little house, but now served as a reminder of the neglect experienced by the house. A reminder, as well, of the owner which had left this place to its own devices.

“Thank you, Ms. Douglass. I’m sure you get a lot of questions about this, and I know it was mentioned on the website, but the last owner of this place went missing, right?”

Ms. Douglass briefly glanced back over her shoulder before turning her eyes forward again, walking into the kitchen while she began to talk.

“That’s right. Almost three years ago, actually. September 23, 2017 was the last time Mr. Hansen was seen.”

“Oh wow. Why has it taken so long for the house to be fixed up and sold? Family still holding onto hope that he would come back at some point?” 

James observed the view from the kitchen window as he talked. The back of the house looked out on a large green field, which went on unobstructed for about a half-mile before meeting the dense line of trees which formed a forest and covered the line of rolling hills stretching around the border of the town. Certainly not the kind of place which a person in their right mind would want to disappear themselves from.

“No family, actually. It only hasn’t been sold because it was unclear what jurisdiction the house actually fell under. Mr. Hansen didn’t leave a note or will, or anything else, so it took a while to get the place back on the market.”

“Well that explains it, I’m sure this place would’ve been off the market in no time otherwise,” said James He wanted to continue asking about the disappearance of the prior inhabitant of the house, but as he prepared to ask his next question, Ms. Douglass began to rock back and forth on her heels, evidently impatient about the line of questioning and ready to move onto actually talking about the house.

The rest of the tour went by quickly, and by the time it ended, James had his mind set on buying. The house felt as if it had been left alone for too long, and he would be happy to be the person who was able to bring life back into it. 

As they made plans for a second meeting, where James would sign the lease and agree to a down payment, a noise came from the spare bedroom, which was just down a short hall from the entrance they were standing in.

“There haven’t been any problems with animals since the remodeling began, have there?”

"No, not at all. I can just run back to make sure it wasn’t…” There it was again, almost as if someone was knocking on a window, as if it was a door and they wanted to be let in. “I’ll just run over and check on it.” Ms. Douglass turned quickly, and walked back to the room. She was back in under a minute, and informed him that there was not any clear source of the sound. “I’ll let the people working on the house know that we heard that, and they can check it out.”

“Don't worry about it, I’m sure it was nothing. Well, thanks for the tour. If that’s all, I’ll send you an email soon. I love the place, so you can definitely expect to hear from me.” 

They said their goodbyes, and James walked to his car, a red 2006 Chevy Impala, which was his most prized possession, at least until the deal for the house went through, that is. He opened the driver’s-side door, and began to get in, when a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked back up at the house and caught that same movement again. On the left side of the house, shielded by the late-afternoon shade, there was something… 

He squinted, trying to make it out, and for a moment thought he saw a shape there in the shadows, bigger than an animal, and almost the size of a… but then he blinked, and it was gone. It was absurd, obviously, but before coming to his senses he had thought that he saw the form of a human out in the shadows, watching him as he left his future home.

One quick month later, and the big day had arrived. October 23, 2020, the day that James became officially acquainted with his new home. The crumbling yellow trim of the door which James had observed on his first tour of the house was now a fresh dark green, to match James' specifications. After his first experience with the house, he had decided that it needed some life. And what life was more abundant here than the green grass all around?

Repairs were not fully completed, but still, 15 McAllister Drive had been greatly improved. James' discomfort as he left a month previously had faded away, and was far from the fore-front of his mind on this exciting day.

After a quick move-in (James had most of the furniture delivered and installed before he arrived, so he only had several suitcases to bring in on this particular day), James went into the kitchen to survey his view of the imposing green mountains. James looked forward to many days spent hiking in those mountains and trees.

Later that night, James was lying in bed with his journal, chronicling the events of his first day in his new home when he heard a scratching coming from somewhere nearby. He turned over to look at his window, and, in the small crack between his curtains, saw a flash of movement.

Throwing his sheets to the side, James jumped out of bed and went over to the window, throwing his curtains to the site to try to catch the source of the movement and the scratching. Outside was only darkness. The light from his room illuminated the first few feet, and the newly-trimmed bushes below his window, but nothing else. Anything could be lurking out in the dark, in the space between his house and…

There it was again. That same knocking that James had heard when he first took a tour of the house, from the guest room. Well, Ms. Douglass said it was nothing...I should still check it out though. James walked over to the barren guest room (he wasn’t expecting guests any time soon, given that it was still the middle of a pandemic), and looked out the window again. This window faced out towards the street, and there, all was still. It is 1:30 in the morning already, it’s probably some nocturnal animal or something. Despite that reassuring thought, James still went over to the front and back door to make sure that he had remembered to lock them.

Satisfied that, on the off chance there was anything dangerous out there, James returned to his room. Well, I think I’ve written enough for tonight, he thought, closing his brown leather-bound journal and, out of habit, tying it shut with the two strings attached. He placed his journal by the side of his bed, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A glaring ray of sunlight shining into his face awoke James the next morning. He had forgotten to close his curtains after the events of last night, and the first rays of the sun shining over the mountains behind his house had pierced the window and acted as an early morning alarm. He grabbed his phone to check the time. 7:19, might as well just be up for the day now. James had plans to explore town a bit later in the day, but given his early wake-up, decided to write some more in his journal, after having been interrupted last night. 

He grabbed his journal from the nightstand, untied it, and as he opened it, something fell out and drifted towards the floor. Weird, I’ve never put any loose papers in there, he thought, bending to pick the paper up.

When he saw what it was, James almost dropped again in shock. It was a picture which he was familiar with, one he had seen just the other day when he was doing some research on the disappearance of Mr. Hansen. It was Mr. Hansen, standing with his wife, who had passed away about 2 years before his disappearance. Standing at about 6 feet tall, with a long blonde pony-tail, Mr. Hansen had his arm around his wife, and was smiling at the camera at the summit of one of the nearby mountains. This was the picture that had been used in most of the news articles about Mr. Hansen. James had also never seen a physical copy of it before.

Could I have printed it out and forgotten? Maybe it was left around the house or something, and I was too tired last night to remember picking it up?

James was beginning to feel uneasy. The events of last night, combined with the mysterious arrival of this picture, made him think back to what those two boys had said. “He won’t be happy”. James was not a believer in the supernatural, but this made no sense. 

James decided that he needed some fresh air to think everything over, and so he walked to his kitchen, made a quick mug of coffee, and walked to the bag door to go out to his backyard. Once again, James was shocked by what he found.

The door, which he clearly remembered having checked last night, was now unlocked, and not even fully closed. Someone must’ve come in and left that picture. Is someone actually trying to scare me out of this house? There clearly isn’t anyone with a connection to the place, since it was abandoned for 3 years. And how did they even get in?

The door was open, but it was fully intact, with no signs of forced entry. If James didn’t know any better, he would have said that someone had unlocked the door and walked in. Is it possible...?

He called the realtors office and was informed that they had made a mistake, and the locks had never been changed.

So someone has been here who had keys to the house.

The realtor sent someone over to change the locks, so James spent the whole day outside, allowing the work on his locks to be completed, and enjoying the warm weather while it lasted. “Exploration” was also a good way to avoid his inevitable eventual return to his house. 

When he did finally return, just as the sun was beginning to set, James went straight to his room to take another look at the picture. He grabbed it, and, seeing nothing new in the picture itself, flipped it over. There, in the button right corner, in barely legible font, was a set of numbers, which James quickly recognized as coordinates. 

He grabbed his phone, and immediately entered the coordinates in the map. They pointed to a spot not far into the woods behind his house.

The next morning, James went to check out the coordinates, walking through the fields towards the trees beyond. He reached the line of trees, and, after walking for about 25 minutes, reached the spot.

He knew he was at the right place, even without looking at his phone. A large rock overhang covered an area of dirt which had clearly been recently occupied. There were ashes, which had been scattered but had been in a fire pit under the overhang. As he walked further in, James saw, written in ash on the rock:

8/29

October 29th? That was the logical meaning of the numbers. Was this a message for him? And who was it who had been living out here in the woods? James thought back to the way the boys had spoken, as well as the painter who he talked with when he moved in. They had all spoken of Mr. Hansen in the present tense. 

This time, James knew that he should go to the police. They told him they would look into it, and they did. They looked at the campsite, and asked some questions around town, but found nothing that led them in any particular directions. They took a look at the picture as well, but there was no evidence of fingerprints or anything else.

The days went by, and James began to feel more comfortable as October 29th approached. He was nervous, in case something actually did happen, but he felt secure now that his locks had been changed and the police knew about everything that had happened. They had offered to have an officer monitor his house on the 29th, just in case, and he had, though somewhat embarrassed about his need for protection, accepted.

The day of the 29th finally arrived, and went by without incident. The night, however, was what James was worried about. He was sitting at his kitchen table eating a late dinner, at around 8:30, when he heard a sound. Unlike the other sounds he had heard before, this noise came from inside the house.

James grabbed a knife, just in case, and slowly walked towards his room.

Now there was a tapping, a continuous sound, coming from his closet. Now, in addition to the sound, there was a strange smell. It smelled almost like gasoline. James walked towards his closet, and immediately saw where the sound was coming from. A ventilation grate in the side of the closet. He went over to it, and grabbed it, pulling on it softly. The grate gave way easily, and bent down to look in. The smell of gasoline was almost overpowering now, but the sound had stopped. 

James looked in, and first saw some water bottles, and then various energy bar wrappings. All snacks which James had had in his house, and had not noticed go missing. And then, sitting in the middle of the space in the wall, was Mr. Hansen himself. 

His hair, even longer than in the picture, was matted, and his face was covered by a combination of his hair and his large, unkempt beard. James couldn’t see much of him, but there was one thing that he recognized. Mr. Hansen was smiling.

“Welcome to 15 Mcallister Drive”, came a hoarse, raspy voice. The voice of someone who hadn’t spoken to another human in over 3 years. “Unfortunately, though I no longer resided here, I still cared about this place. I went into exile three years ago, but I felt the house calling me back. She didn’t like being disturbed.”

James began to back away, but it was too late. There was a *BANG*, and a flash of pain in his leg, and James fell to the ground, blood pouring from his leg. Mr. Hansen slid out of the hole in the wall, a small pistol in his hand, and stood over James. 

“I needed to be alone after my wife died. I thought there was something wrong with me, so I disappeared myself, and survived in the forest. It was only that you moved in that I realized that it wasn’t me. It was this house. I didn’t know that someone was moving in. I felt it. And when I came back, it told me what to do. It told me that it wanted to be alone. I’ve been waiting here for 6 days, figuring out what I should do. I’ve done the house’s will now, but I won’t let what happened to me happen to anyone else.” 

Mr. Hansen reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches. He lit one, and before James could say anything, dropped it on the gasoline covered floor. The fire caught immediately, engulfing first the closet, and then Mr. Hansen himself, who fell back into the fire without making a sound. James tried to crawl away, but not quickly enough. He felt the heat on his legs, and then felt it work it’s way up his body, joining him with the house in a blaze of flames.