The House

I pull the door up, quietly. I don't want to wake my father, who is asleep upstairs. I shouldn't care for that beast of a man.

But I must do this alone.

I've been here before. I walked this same path just weeks ago before the accident.
Overhead there are trees, towering over me like monsters casting evil shadows. I keep walking. I don't stop till I reach the house.
It's daunting, this place. I still hear the shrieks and the squeals of the children as I walk up the mouldy three steps to the front door. I place a finger in the centre of the door and press.That usually works. But today, it's stiff. I place both palms on the door and give it a hard shove. It topples backwards and lands on the floor with a loud bang and a puff of dust. A crack runs up the middle of the door as I glance back to our house. Nothing. Good.