Chapter 147: 148: Looting

Doors and cupboards and draws were being opened, reverberating throughout the wooden house in which we loitered. They were the sounds of a ransacking. I certainly wasn't fond of the idea of stealing from the dead. But, it would appear that it wasn't as bad as I had thought. The owner of the items I was plundering was perhaps dead, just like a part of myself. 

I perched at the edge of the porch of the second floor, peering at the world as it rained heavily. It was not a thing for a coward to muster the bravery to do. Perching at the edge of a balcony. But that didn't change the fact that I was a coward. 

An empty backpack was around my minuscule delts. It was a black backpack, with very few pockets. I stole it lest we wanted to store more salvaged items. 

I didn't like the idea of going to another house after we cleared this one. Admittedly, there was a strange energy and scent to this house. But why bother looting it and leaving only to do the same to other vacant houses. Why not just ... stay? 

I heard footsteps sounding from behind me on the wooden, balcony floor. The floor creaked as the approaching person halted. "We're out of place to store things. I'm putting some can foods in your backpack," said Hanso.

I looked over my shoulder. He unzipped the bag, and placed two cans in it. Then, he zipped up the pack again and smiled at me. Finally, he turned around and left. 

I wasn't in the right state of mind to help them loot the abandoned house. But they kindly understood me and decided they'd do it by themselves while I simply relaxed. 

My mind was just filled with thoughts of the past and nothing more. I couldn't let go. I always embraced the past. I always recalled the negative things.

Negative things like betraying my friends. 

Flashes of horror flickered in my brain, sending images to scare the fuck out of me. Grotesque. Grim. The images of the creatures were the ones that sent chills down my spine. More thoughts flooded my head.

Blood. 

Death. 

Monsters.

Screams. 

Blood. 

Death.

I quickly snapped out of it. My chest rose and fell a couple of times as I perched on the edge. It was the fourth time I almost fell to my death. Which, obviously, meant that this was the fourth time I've gotten one of these eerie reveries in this exact spot. 

Perching absentmindedly was not something I wanted to do again. I simply wasn't that audacious. And so, I turned around, and climbed down from the white baluster to my feet again. 

I sat there for so long that I had started getting cramps. I scowled. I hated cramps. I used to be so scared of them in the past to a point where I ended up calling the ambulance only to be embarrassed afterward. I never got them from physical activities, but from remaining static for long periods of study sessions. I walked through the door to the balcony, entering the house. 

I remembered just how messy it was. It looked as though a fight had happened. If my mother were present, she would have made it pristine despite not being the owner at all. She was a clean woman. But I certainly didn't miss her at all.

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Besides the filthy house, there was an old man sitting on a one-seater rocking chair. The chair hadn't rocked since we broke into the house. And the old man looked incredibly pale. What could he have been other than dead? 

Miguel was probably downstairs. As for Hanso; he stood in front of a picture frame. I walked up to him. "What are you up to?" I asked, hinting at my curiousity.

"Ah," he said, scratching behind his neck. "It's nothing." He blushed.

Suspcious. I saw Hanso's weird smile. But I hadn't seen him blush before. I slowly turned my head to look at the picture frame on the wall. It was a rather large picture frame. It accommodated a picture and a huge record disc.

Behind the glass, was a picture of three people. A tall man, a child, and a beautiful young woman. The latter seemed to be the catalyst of Hanso's facial expression. 

I made the best smug face possible, and directed it at him. I then made my brows perform a push-up. "I see you, Hanso. That's your taste in woman, huh?"

He elbowed me to the upper arm, rubescent. "Stop it. I wasn't looking at her. I was looking at the man in the picture ..."

I widened my eyes at him. "Oh ... I ... uh ... didn't know you were like that."

"No you idiot," he slapped me to the head, "I was thinking the man looked familiar."

"Yeah," I said, "he's probably the guy behind us. Except," I looked over my shoulder to see the old man in the rocking chair, "he's aged. A lot." I looked ahead again. 

"He sure did have a nice wife," Hanso said, becoming red again.

"That would be my daughter," said a voice from behind. A husky, dried, trembling voice. 

Hanso and I looked at each other with widened eyes. We paused for a moment with our breaths quickening. And I could tell Hanso had probably helped myself to one of the can foods. The pineapple was strong in my nostrils. 

"What's the matter? Can't look at the owner of a house you've broken into?"

We slowly turned around. Only to see the old man sitting on the rocking chair. Seeing. Talking. Breathing. Alive. 

He slowly took a gun out, and directed it at Hanso. Shortly, Hanso's body trembled in fear. "What do you want?" Hanso stupidly asked.

"What? I don't get this," the old man raised his brows, "you broke into my house, and you're asking me what I want?"

I looked at the old man. "S-Sir ... I don't think he meant—"

He directed his gun at me. I quickly raised both my hands. The gun clicked. He inched his finger closer to the trigger.

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