It’s Halloween and the sense of foreboding hangs heavily in the air. Birds fly around the house, their fluttering wings catching at the windows as they fly up in panic from something slowly shuffling about the building.
Leaves are falling in a mimicry of snow. A crumpled carpet of browns and gold, dulled by the cold dark air. Sound is muffled, but even through it there is a lurking, grinding shudder.
As the darkness falls a tremor shakes the ground. The stems of ivy entwined around the walls of the house seem to stretch and shiver, the leaves expanding and contracting, pulsing, throttling. Dragging down on the building, pulling through cement, brick and concrete. Crumpling the floorboards and ceilings. Slowly the house changes shape, slumping down into itself like a car in a crusher.
Finally a spray of water rises above the debris as the water main bursts.
The birds fly and flutter down, settling on the rubble. Quiet descends.
Mallaband-Brown 