The house stood on a desolate hill, surrounded by an endless torrent of tumbling waves, crashing onto the misty beach. A black sky hung over me, like a heartless chandelier. Rain drilled into my skull, as if God had gone evil.

The wind whirled around the defiant house, trying to claim its victim. I stepped in through the strengthened door, making it creak and groan in protest. Rain smashed against the weathered tiles on the wet roof, falling like icicles off a snow cave.

I walked cautiously to a battered window that was almost screaming from the pain of a never-ending bullet of wind. I felt uneasy, being in a house that looked as if it would fall apart and crumble the moment I touched a wall. It was cold, the poorly fitted windows let in a sudden gush of frozen wind the moment a throb of air chose to wake. Damp was forming on the bubbly wallpaper, behind a group of horribly optimistic paintings depicting boats bobbing on the flat, forgiving sea, without a care in the world. There couldn’t be more contrast between the two scenes – outside, towering waves hurtled towards the rigid rocks, before smashing in with tremendous force.

There was a putrid-smelling reek of dried, squelchy mud, which had been brought in by whoever was there before. I looked out of a fragile window, down the steep, rocky hill and onto the endless beach. There were only a handful of people on the beach, most of who struggled franticly with reckless kites, that hopped out of the owners’ reach as they tried to catch them. Their footprints were filling with water as I watched.

I touched a battered armchair. It felt like and old elephant’s skin - wrinkled and dead. The place must have been deserted for years.

I steadily walked out of the house, turning back around after ten paces; I looked up to the house. It was built near to the top of a towering hill, the top being covered with rocks. It was reasonably big; it had a ground floor balcony. A flash of lightning across the heavy sky, illuminating the looming house, enabled me to see blobs of brown mud, probably where people were trying to vandalise the old home.

I hurried back down the hill, trying to get away from the horrendous house.

F Sasada (11.07)