Winter night.

I stand in fear, petrified to make a sound.

Silence.

I turn back around and press on the handle once more, wishing for it to expose me to the open night, I breathe deep through my lungs, pushing me to press down on the handle. Finally, I break the pause of waiting.

It opens.

The tension in my body drops to the floor, leaving it with the house.

As I pass the door and enter the open night and the atmosphere hits me in the face.

The winter air feels warm on my skin, like a blanket recovering me from the coldest water. But this was no water, this was evil, the cold-hearted evil that lurks in the corners of the earth, to shallow to be seen with the naked eye.

I walk down the steps and back through the garden. I come out to an open street, filling the night sky with hazy yellow lights, cars past in front of me, striking through the slushy mess on the side of the road, beaming their head lights though the early night.

I wonder to the end of the street ready to take a turn away from that house, like a race with time. But something stops me, I peer across my shoulder and glance back at the empty shell of a house, the windows pear down on me, desperately making me want to go back and see what lays inside, what lives in that house?

Who lives in that house?

Before my curiosity takes me back, I turn the corner and head down the street following the way I came.

I decide to not go home yet, dealing with mum already is not an option. I walk into the corner shop and head for the taky fridge, stained glass and barely see through. I open the fridge door and wait for the cold air to hit my face, but it doesn't. I grab the drink I came for, only to feel a lukewarm can that would of lost its great cold taste, but I'm not in the mood to be picky, I continue to hold the drink in my hand and head to the till.

"Hello, Laim, how are we?" a croaky voice, changed by the years of smoke.

I pear up and place my drink on the counter, looking into the eyes of a tall white man, familiar, steven. I've known him for a couple years now, him and his dad bought the shop when I was a kid and got to know my mum straight away, always asking how she was, asking if she needed help. One side of me wonders if it was to be nice, or simply to get with her but not that it matters now, since she never leaves the house.

Before I spoke, I looked at him, hard. There he studs with his Asda jumper that's got holes in the sleeves from years of usage, a miscoloured of Primark jeans and brown flip flops, everything that's wrong with old people stands right in front of me.

"ermmm, I'm good, is your fridge broken?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, I have been meaning to take a look, my dad says we should buy a new one, but I'm not paying those ridiculous prices" he said while scanning my drink.

I turned away, the smell of his fag breath makes me feel nauseous.

*beep*

"How's your mum anyway?" he said breaking the awkward silence.

I pass him the money for the drink as he gets the change from the till.

"She's really good actually, she went to a job interview yesterday, don't know if she's got it though. Shes wating for a reply" I say, lying through my teeth, knowing full well that she hasn't left the house in 6 months.

"Thats brilliant, let me know how she gets on Liam" he says in a positive tone, condescendingly smiling at me.

I pick the drink up and head for the door.

"will do, see ya" I say opening the door to make a leave.

I walk out, not listening to what steven shouts as the door closes behind me.

Right, let's go home.