The Hobo and The House

The hobo did what he always has done. He found an abandoned building and slept in it for the night…any longer and he risked being caught and sent to jail. He then moved on to the next. It was a lonely lifestyle, one filled with grief and dread. There was very little to be happy about, except for of course the fact that any of these abandoned building could hold a treasure so valuable that it would give him the money he needs to finally buy a permanent home. A place to call home, that was all he wished for. Alas, that only happens in movies and books. In real life, that never happens, so the hobo trudged along aimlessly, looking for a place to stay the night.
         He was walking down an old forgotten path, after all these are where the best homes found, and came across a peculiar place. The home was beautiful, and unlike most abandoned homes, was in perfect condition. The white paint job was untouched and the doorknob was as shiny as one would be if it were brand new. The house was at least three stories, of course homes always look bigger on the outside, and the windows did not have even the smallest of cracks.
         He couldn’t believe his luck, it was almost as if the home was just recently abandoned, it was a snapshot of the past. Untouched, serene, and yet at the same time horrifying. The hobo turned the doorknob and cursed when it didn’t open. He kicked the door in anger and began to walk away from the house. Suddenly a strange creaking sound sprung up from behind him. He turned around and saw that the door had opened. Not fully, but enough to where you could peak inside of the home. The hobo skipped back to the door with high hopes. He pulled it open and with a little spring in his step, stepped inside the confines of the house.
         Inside the house was just as it was on the outside. Everything was left untouched, almost as if the house knew he was coming. There was a large dinner on the kitchen table, a nice television in the family room, no dust, working AC, and hardwood floors that shined as bright as the sun. A small smile crept across the hobo’s face, something that hasn’t happened in many years.
He sprinted over to the table, running as fast as he could under his scrawny and boney frame. He quickly began to stuff his face, surprised to see that every time he ate the food that it would regenerate! He could never starve in this house!
“This was it,” he though in awe, “this is the treasure that I have been searching for; this is a gift from God, somewhere to finally call home!”
The hobo finished eating and jumped onto the sofa, which seemed to shift to make him the most comfortable he could be. Without even pressing a button the television turned on and flipped to the news. Everything seemed to be perfect, that is, until the news report hit.
“Family disappears from home in New Jersey.”
A picture of the house in which the hobo was in now filled the screen. Suddenly a feeling of dread and forbidding filled the air. Sweat began to drip off the hobo’s face making loud plopping sounds as it hit the floor. Something was wrong, the hobo could sense at least that much. The hobo’s hands began to shake, then his legs, then his feet, and soon his whole body began to shiver uncontrollably. Pure terror raced through his bones, his blood…his body. The hobo frantically ran to the door and attempted to open it, but found that it was sealed shut. His surrounding began to shift as the walls began to melt, revealing rotten wood filled with termites beneath. The walls began to close in as a loud buzzing sound filled the air. The hobo clutched his head as a pounding headache spread throughout him. It felt like somebody was hitting him repeatedly with a sledgehammer. The hobo once again attempted to open the door, this time it cracked open a little and some light from the outside flooded in.
         The door attempted to slam itself shut as an audible NO echoed throughout the house. Suddenly footsteps were heard coming from the kitchen as the lights began to flicker.
         The hobo desperately attempted to pull open the door once again and with all of his might was able to do so. Closing his eyes the hobo sprinted through the door, feeling relieved. He slowly opened his eyes and felt a feeling of dread swell up inside him.
         Through the door was the very house that he had thought he had escaped from, back in perfect condition. The walls were no longer decaying; in fact they were as spotless as brand new fine china. He slowly tiptoed into the kitchen to see that the table was set once again. He ate some of the food and it regenerated.
“I know what I’ll do,” he thought, “I’ll just leave the house now, before anything happens!”
The hobo sprinted over to the door and tugged it open. He could see the outside, the real world, and ran through the door. He looked around joyfully, but that joy was short lived as he slumped over in defeat. Once again he was back in the house. The very same house that he thought he had escaped from. The very same house that he thought was a gift from God. He was wrong. This house wasn’t a gift from God; it was a present from the devil, a first class ticket straight to Hell. It was then that he realized that the house wasn’t going to let him leave. There was no escaping from this house.
         Finally the hobo had gotten what he wished for; he had found a place where he could stay forever. A place to call…..home.