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Red
Feline on the Cross - Chapter 1 - The Old House
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Red Feline walked down a street she had walked many
times before. She wore her favorite clothing: a black
beret, a ratty, holey, old fisherman's shirt and her
sunglasses that covered half of her pixie-like face.
There was an old house in the middle of the block.
It was abandoned, left to fall apart by time eating
it alive. Red Feline had a great attraction to this
house, not only because it was one of the very few old
structures left in the area, and not just because it
made her sad to see the house dying away slowly, its
walls crumbling, the shrubbery drying out, and not because
she often imagined that perhaps at another time this
house was the home to wealthy people, that it was a
center for wild, bohemian parties. No, that was not
the reason she had that attraction. It was something
else. |
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| Every time she assed
by the house she felt that it was calling her, inviting
her to walk in. She had been walking past that old house
for months, hoping that at one point she would have
the guts to follow the inner command. This day, a nice,
quiet, sunny day, she found the courage to go in.
She looked up at the half open window that, strangely
enough, seemed to be looking down at her. Perhaps there
was somebody looking down, hiding behind the dirty glass.
"That is ridiculous.", she thought,
"Who could be up there?". The house
was clearly abandoned, probably no one had been there
in many, many years.
That thought made her feel like it was her duty
to be the one to break that pattern. |
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| She looked back, to
see if anyone saw her. No one was paying attention so
she climbed up the broken-down fence to a side door
that seemed to be ajar. The main entrance was blocked
by chains and a big padlock.
She pushed the old side door, there was a rusty nail
holding it shut, she pushed again and the door opened
into a narrow passage way. She hesitated at first. "I'm
trespassing", she thought, but the strange pull
that the old house had on her was stronger than any
fear.
"It's abandoned...", she convinced
herself.
She walked in, her heart pounding, her hands shaking,
and as she entered the narrow corridor she pushed the
door to close it. "No one will know there's somebody
in here.", she thought. |
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| The short corridor
led to an inside yard. Fashionable in colonial times
and thereafter. An architectural style imported from
the old continent. The yard was surrounded by the two
floor house. The ceilings were very high so the house
was as tall as a four floor modern construction.
She looked up to the balconies on the second
floor. One part had large colorful stained-glass windows,
the other part only a banister. Again, she felt
the presence of somebody looking down at her.
"What if there are ghosts?", she thought.
She was not afraid of ghosts, she grew up in a house
of agnostics who had no interest in religion or fantastic
tales. She had no fear of the unknown, she had learned
that there is plenty to be afraid of in the real world.
So, the world of ghosts and spirits was simply
a good source for interesting and amusing tales.
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| Ever since she came
to this strange city in the middle of a high plateau
in the Andes, she felt that this house had some meaning
for her. The first time she felt this was a few weeks
after she arrived to the country.
She was getting acquainted with the old city,
founded by Spanish conquerors hundreds of years before,
when she first saw the old house. The attraction was
immediate, love at first sight. But along with the attraction
there was fear, as if this old house was full of bad
memories, terrible memories she'd rather forget.
She lived not too far from the house, only a
few blocks away, in another old, crumbling, mansion-like
house. There were few of these old constructions sharing
the space with the new, modern buildings that were sprouting
up like mushrooms after a rainy day, crushing the old,
adobe mansions that were symbols of a different era,
already under a layers of oblivion. |
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