It had been two days since anyone had seen Darsie Anderson. Under the prompting of the curious neighbors, I found myself on his doorstep. Darsie’s house was a sickly shade of yellow; as out of place as a parrot in a theatre. I rapped the knocker only to have the door creak open at my touch. “Mr. Anderson? Darsie?” My voice was absorbed by the rotting cabinets and chairs. When I entered the hall, my heart beat faster with each step. I could hear no sound but my heart pounding in my ears. “Darsie?” The noise barely escaped my lips before being swallowed up again. I saw Darsie hanging onto the breakfast nook; a shadow of the man he once was. Where his nose had once been, there were but two holes. His skin was an unhealthy hue with grey splotches. Darsie’s lips were cracked and dry. “Charlotte…” he choked. In fear, I backed away. “No! Stay here with me!” he shouted, his eyes blazing. Too frightened to move, I stood listening to his story, soon oblivious to the squalor around me. http://ficlets.com/feed/story/26462