AN: So this is just a short one-shot, drabble or whatever you want to call it. It is written mostly as an attempt to get over my writers block on another story, though I'm not sure if it worked. This is also unseen by my beta reader.
Anyway, please enjoy and send me a line to tell me what you think.
Why (waɪ) - adv 1. a. for what reason, purpose, or cause?: why are you here? b. ( used in indirect questions ): tell me why you're here
The house is a newly renovated Victorian dream that, despite the fresh paint and whole windows, manage to seem old and sinister. Menacing and foreboding. But that's probably just the storm clouds gathering in the sky. The thunder sounding from afar. That's how you reason as you lift the last box out if the car and trudge back to the front porch.
If you had wondered why Trix, your otherwise fearless Labrador, whined and whimpered all the way to the front door you might have stopped to see the house grow darker, seen the shadows moving in the windows. But you were tired after the sixteen hour drive and wanted nothing more than go to bed. The dog follows, now quiet and jumpy, as you enter the kitchen to put the box with the others. The room is cold, bordering freezing, and you shiver in your thin cardigan. Had you asked why is it so cold in the middle of July, in a newly renovated house with functioning furnaces, instead of rifling through a bag for a blanked, you might have seen the box slide over the counter top, tipping on the edge, before falling over and sending plates and glasses shattering over the floor. Had you questioned this, why did it fall from the middle of a counter, you probably wouldn't have gone to bed so soon.
If you the next morning had pondered on why there's suspect stains on the freshly painted walls in the living room you would have seen the handprint on the white wallpaper. If you that same morning had called your landlord and asked why the lights are flickering, you would have been told that they shouldn't. The wiring was finished two weeks ago.
A stupid prank, that's what you think just after sending two men from your door, instead of asking why. Why are doors creaking and furniture moving. Stress from the journey you think. Why are there voices and shadows in every corner. Just hearing my neighbors through the walls you reason.
Why would Trix run away. And why would your landlord fall down the stairs. And why, why are the two men back, standing outside your door. Why would you be in danger. Why would the house try to swallow you whole. How could it.
Why can't you see the hands trying to tear you apart. Why should you trust two strangers as they break down your door.
Why? Why? Why!
Had you asked yourself why, you might have lived longer.
And so, instead, it is your last breath.
"Why?"
