A cold wind blew. The air felt mystifying. A shiver chilled down my spine. The place was spooky. The dilapidated ruins seemed to leer at me, casting spells and cursing me. The feel was not good. The place was damp and dark. Even light didn’t dare to enter into the window panes. And there I was with only my satchel to accompany me.

Why was I there?

Have I not already landed several times into trouble with my habit of sneaking around here and there to find a story, fascinating enough for my boss to print it in the journal and take all the credit? But I had decided. I would at any cost gain credits for my work that would be published in the next month’s edition, if I was lucky enough to get out of this horrible house, alive.

The house smelt of suppressed emotions and depressed lives. I had mustered enough courage to enter into the house, but I don’t think I had enough to stay there. But then, I had my job and I had to write something. I walked a few steps, careful enough not to step on any insect, rodent, or squeaky toy as they showed on movies. The house must have been a very grand place with beautiful carvings. The family must have been royal and rich, laden with all the comforts of life.

But where did the family go? How could they just vanish into thin air? What happened to the neighbourhood? Why did the place become deserted? Was it actually haunted?
Questions revolved in my mind. A cheerful picture hung on the wall, a picture of a lady with two kids; Perhaps, her son and her daughter. A thick layer of dust had accumulated which I somewhat removed with a strong blow. With only a torch in my hand, I could barely see through the dirt but I guessed maybe the mother was a fair and young lady.  By then I had already reached the stairs. I didn’t want to discover any hidden passage or find a burnt picture. All I wanted was to know what had happened there.

The house had buried within it a, a dark secret. A web of lies had trapped the family? Or was it homicide?

The things that I touched, the things that I saw, wanted me to investigate. They wanted me to know why they had been lying in this horrid place for years untouched. As I walked past the paintings of the same two kids, I could see their eyes and felt as if they had been traumatised by guilt. The smile that they carried in every painting was a forced one. There was no trace of the father in any of the pictures. I guess the lady was a single mother.

I don’t know how, but I wasn’t scared any more. I wanted my search to find the truth to end with the truth unfolding. I didn’t want to return back dejected. For others, maybe I was there to search or make up a story, but I was there to experience it. I wanted to know why the mother and the kids were unhappy. I wanted to sit and listen to their tales. I had the urge to help them if they had faced injustice. I didn’t want to leave the place. I wanted to stay there and ponder on their sudden disappearances.

I checked my watch. It was half past seven. I was getting late. I saw the dark sky and the clouds hid the stars behind them. There were possibilities of an evening shower. The clouds hovered above the house as if the rain wanted to rise the dampen spirit in the house or wash the sins away from it. I knew it was time for me to leave. I felt bad that I wasn’t able to uncover the truth. But I didn’t want to weave a false story. I had heard rumours that the house was haunted by the cursed. But for me, the house was an abode of a happy family that succumbed to life, a house of sweet memories that was more powerful than the dark ones. It wasn’t haunted for me. Every house that has a secret may not be haunted. Maybe the woman had not murdered her kids. Maybe she ran away with them because she wanted to protect them. A sense of deep satisfaction filled up my heart. I may not know the truth, but I did realise that the purpose of my visit didn’t fail.

Yes. I have a story, a story that speaks the truth; A story that delves deep into intriguing emotions. A story that reflects the past of a family, a happy family that got buried under the tales of the people.