username + number:
mewsters + 159751
kalon name:
Elm
prompt:
Nobody likes to go to Elmโs front step, especially not children on Hallowโs Eve. Elm lives in an ancient, two-story house that looks as if a small gust of wind could blow it over at any point. Its ancient form is slowly chipping away, siding crumbling from the harsh weather and sun and its windows spider-web like cracks branching along the glass. The front door is the worst of them all, the door itself has a thin, crumbling layer of dark russet colored paint hiding the thick oak underneath, with a large bronze door-knocker in the shape of an unknown animal skull. The door knob is made from the same material, but both pieces of metal are dull from wear.
Nothing but dry, brown leaves scatter across the sidewalk leading to the front door, scuttling as fast as possible as if they too did not want to be seen. Ivy clung to the one singular post keeping the porchโs overhang in place, it too covered in chipping paint, this time a dull white. A porch light with an almost vase-like shape kept the door dimly lit, its bulb flickering as if it could go out at any point. No matter what time of day it was, it was on as if Elm was sitting, waiting for a new visitor, a new soul to add to his collection.
This entrance holds memories though, those long gone to history. The door has seen so many of Elmโs family, friends, and complete strangers pass through it, holding the once shiny and new handle in each of these dear soulsโ hands without much thought. Elm remembers each guest sometimes with fondness or anger, or any emotion in between. The entrance acted as a gateway for these souls to pass through into their fog-filled afterlives. Once someoneโs foot passed through the ancient, creaky door, they would forever be encased within the belly of the house, forever wandering the halls eternally looking for the exit.
From the inside, everything down to the pristine trim along the doorframe, looked brand new. The internals were in its golden era, and the door that was once the dull russet color was now a bright, spotless white with whisp-like gold accents, which complimented the shiny new doorknob well. There was almost an ethereal glow to it, but not seen to the naked eye, just the owner of the old, rickety house.
Elm was a spirit herder, a death shepherd if you will. The unlucky ones who traveled to his front steps were there for one thing, and one thing only, to live a leisurely afterlife until they were brought out of purgatory. Elm couldnโt complain, as he liked the cold company the spirits brought. He led his family, friends, and all sorts of strangers through his door knowing what fate would soon meet them. He purposefully made his abode look the way it does for a reason. Making his entryway as unappealing as possible keeps mortals steer clear of his front steps, but keeping the ethereal glow through the cracks helps lost spirits find their way.
Thereโs a reason why those that know this house with its eerie steps and cold, beckoning door steer clear. Anyone that passes by the propertyโs mangled once-white picket fence gets a chill down their spine and an almost beckoning feeling to go the front steps, but its easy to tear away from this feeling as for most mortals itโs not their time. To anyone but Elm, the home is quiet and empty. But inside, itโs bustling with ghostly noise. Elm prefers it like that.
