The Presence and the Knocking

Someone was knocking on the door. The knocks started off as polite rapping on the old wood but soon the person on the outside started to pound on the door. The presence inside could sense the urgency behind the knocking. It knew nothing of numbers or it would have knock this was the third to come knocking. The presence just knew that soon the knocking would get even more urgent and that then the door would be knocked down.

How had it come to this, the presence thought to itself. It had been built with care by a man with dirt soaked hands and for years had soaked up the love of a family trying to build a life. The presence had only known only pleasure then, it was the only emotion of many presented to him that it chose to understand. It took years of neglect for it to realize that there was anything else in the world other than pleasure but it learned quickly.

It seemed that things changed so suddenly. At first the man and his mate were having small fights in whispered tones in the kitchen but in no time at all they did not care who heard them. The little ones grew up and soon were shouting themselves. So much noise and anger were once all the presence had heard was laughter.

That is when the neglect started. It were the little things that went first; those nice things they people use to do just because it made things look nice. They still took some care of the presence deep inside the ruined house but only enough to keep things standing. When it got so dusty that others would comment, they cleaned it but with great resentment. Where had the joy in upkeep gone?

Then they had started to leave. The little ones first, though they were not so little any more. Oh how they use to play but now it was a chore to even visit. Then the man who smelled more of drink then of the earth left. He was not moving like the little ones when they took him away. Only the woman, now old and brittle remained.

In the end the presence whose being was being shaken by that cursed pounding would have chosen the man over the woman. She had been kind and shy once but years of anger had turned her. Time had worn on the house they lived in and it had worn on both the man and his mate. He was not a good man when they took him away but still the presence had affection for the man for he was the one who had created it.

The neglect was now quite serious. The presence felt great shame at the state of things. It was falling apart and it knew it. The woman could not take care of it any more, she could hardly take care of herself. She would wander the halls drinking and complaining. She complained out loud to the man who had gone and the children who would not come back. She even talked to the presence deep in the house but only to complain at how old it had become. She yelled at every fault, every leak and every crack in its shell.

Yet the presence knew it was not its fault. In the beginning they had taken care of each other. Love was given to it and it gave love back in return. It was the people around it that had stopped caring first. Yet the women did not listen all she did was yell, sob and talk about nothing.

Then one morning the talking stopped. She had been taking her chair up the stairs when wires inside the house had shorted out. The presence felt great guilt for this but what could be done; old wires are apt to do such things. The woman tried to call for help but nobody heard her cries. When she tried to move her frail body off the stairs the banister broke and she fell. The man had built the banister and at one time it had been strong but like old wires, rotted wood is apt to break. Brittle old bones break just like rotted wood thought the presence and it watched as the woman slowly died.

It had been weeks since. The presence could not smell the body decompose, but could feel it get heavier on its boards. It knew of decay, and in those moments of great quiet the presence, the house as it were, remembered something the woman had said.

"When I go, they will tear you apart brick by brick, good riddance!" she had cried when she noticed another leak it its roof. The house had been born with love and devotion. Then it learned anger, sadness and neglect. Finley now the house knew fear. It knew the woman was right It was old, cluttered and falling apart. The woman had been vile but at least she still slept under its rotten roof. If they took her away soon they would replace him with the shiny new buildings he could feel all around him. These were its last days.

As the cop pounded on the door it was not a difficult thing to let loose the brick above the door. Its bricks were loose and if the house focused on the pounding he could inch the brick farther out with each pounding. Then came a loud warning and the house knew what would come after. The cop kicked down the door and the house pushed the brick. It was an old brick but still heavy, it did the job. No more pounding and if the house was lucky perhaps it would get a few more days of peace.