EPTHoodie clad, and prepared to engage in the sweet smells of decapitated grass I go about my work, cleaving stem from leaf in a horrendous massacre.
The plantlife cannot withstand my onslaught.
As I pull myself from the thousands of lifeless plant corpses I notice a figure in the distance.
Dilapidated with peeling yellow paint the shed hunched over on the far side of the yard, as if to shy away from those curious about what lies within it's disheveled walls.
I continue my vegetation conquest.
I look up once more and once more my attention is drawn to the shed.
I adjust my wake of destruction, the lives of the plantfolk no longer matter, it is the shed that my desire for conquest now compels me towards.
I arrive to my destination overtop of the endless sea of carcasses, they seem to buoy me towards the shed, as if they too feel and understand the compulsion.
The entrance is ajar, a screen door. I nudge it once, suspicious of what may lie in wait. Nothing. I push more forcefully, entering what appeared to be an atrium of sorts. A waiting room for the damned mayhaps.
Cold air brushes across the back of my neck, a draft no doubt let in through the exposed lattice walls.
The atrium is oddly clean. Little sign of life, no cobwebs, fairly spotless.
I notice on the wall a toolbelt, it appears to be filled with gardening tools. Their wooden handles immaculate, the canvas of the belt in impeccable condition.
I turn to the doors leading into the main body of the shed. They're a dull ice blue. I push inwards into the depths of the shed and into the darkness
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Was someone living in my damn shed?
A strong breeze broke across the air, in the midst of my shocked documentation my phone displayed a sudden grey screen, a dim light in the dark. It was then that I knew that I must leave this place, for it's true occupant must be near.
I departed post haste and made my way to my place of residence overlooking the palace of the damned that lay at the end of my backyard.
To this hour I look out to it, it's reclusive nature hiding what is unmistakably a powerful force, whatever lives there or lived there having stained it.
Happy Spooktober.
