Isaac limped slowly towards the shattered gates of the old garden. Once stood proud, and delicate, the wrought iron snaked and coiled full of imitations of many vines and roses. Even now, bent and broken, and overgrown with a thick tangle of thorns and weeds, they remained strikingly beautiful. He recalled many memories of when he was a child. All the times that he would reach his little hand up to unlock the latch and push the gates open into the unknown. Now the unknown lay before him. And the latch hung just above his waist.

The house of his youth was now a stranger to him, like a forgotten sweetheart remembered in the occasional dream. He knew that he had known this place once, but no longer. The inner garden, unkept for years, had overgrown. Where beautiful fountains and sculpted hedges once stood, he now peered through gluttonous overgrowth for a glimpse at broken stonework. Even the great oaks, once watchful guardians, had adopted sinister bends in the bows of their branches.

Not a sound came from the garden around him, but for the gentle crunch of the gravel beneath his boots. Occasionally he thought he heard a twig snap, or a bush Russell, but he knew his imagination well.

“There is no life in this place.” He said aloud to himself. He limped further up the garden path for some time, until finally his old home came into view. The garden had not forsaken the great building, which appeared heavy with overgrowth all across most of its right side. His childhood home, built long ago by his own kin, stood three stories tall. With beautiful pillars and balconies, mighty oak doors and heavy stone. We’re it not for the lack of stained glass windows, one would even swear it were a cathedral. Nevertheless all of the windows save the highest and leftmost one, were broken.

As Isaac peered up at this remarkable glass survivor, a shadow darted from within its frame. His pulse quickened, as this time he was not sure if his imagination had surfaced once more. He had learned to not trust his own eyes, but his gut also felt sudden unease. He painfully quickened his pace towards the front door, dragging loudly through the gravel. He bounced up the few steps before the door, and thrust both his hands forward to push it. To his surprise, it had been locked. He gave another push, but to no avail. Again he tried, but not an inch gave way. Then he heard it, the unmistakeable groan of a chair being pushed along the floor inside.

“Who are you?” He said. Now trusting that someone was indeed within the house. “I demand you let me in!”

“Demand does he?” Croaked a shrill voice from behind him. Isaac turned quickly on his heels, despite the sharp pain in his right leg. His nose filled with the smell of rotted flesh. He knew immediately who had followed him.