Dylan Hughes is our host for this fortnightly challenge.
The wind cut into his skin and grey skies pressed down on the rotting town, but at least he was home.
Look at the place. This was his legacy, and he hated it.
Head down, he walked through the jungle that was the front garden, his shoes sinking in slop and his jeans snagging on brambles, but he didn’t care.
Nearing the property, he shivered but it was nothing to do with the wind.
There was a sinister presence surrounding it and reaching the front door, it swung open untouched and uninviting, yet he was compelled to go inside.
It slammed and reopened on damaged hinges behind him.
His skin felt clammy as if unseen breath was breathing down his collar.
He shook himself to exorcise the memory and evict the whispers in his head.
The old man was dead. He couldn’t hurt him anymore.
The digger was still out there, a reminder of what he had tried to do in a moment of desperation all those years ago.
This time he wouldn’t fail.
The demolition crew would be here shortly to flatten his nightmare and send it to hell to join his father.