Day 372

The Old Chalkhouse had been abandoned since the mid sixties.
All that was left was a shell, no walls, no windows and a rusty fence to keep everyone out.
It didn't work according to the local kids, they all said they'd been there.

Strangely they all described a different place.
One claimed there were cavernous holes on the ground floor that spoke softly.
Another said that wires hung from the ceiling, trying to ensnare you as you walked underneath.

I almost went once, on a cloudy late at night and on a whim.
Made it to the old gatehouses nearby, crumbling like everything else there.
Before I could even turn down the road that lead to the rusted fence a hand gently stopped me.

I never saw their face but they spoke so quietly.
I really wouldn't go down there if I were you. There's nothing but rot and bones.
You'll thank me when you come to your senses, this place gets to the best of us.

And with that the hand lifted, I turned and nobody was there.
Still the urge to go into the Old Chalkhouse was strong, I just wanted to see it for myself.
The smell of limestone and pondweed drifted from the ruin in the faint breeze.

I was torn between listening to that oh-so-familiar yet unplaceable voice and sating my curiosity.
As I found myself taking cautious steps towards the fence the breeze picked up sharply.
The clouds were shunted away from the moon and in its feeble glow I saw people.

Well they looked something like people, roughly humanoid if you will.
There must have been dozens of them prowling behind the fence, I hope they didn't see me.
I haven't gone near there since but the children keep asking me about it.

They want to know what I saw, they know I went there.
Maybe they're working with the things behind the fence.
What if they told those things that I was there... what if they knew already?