As soon as the door sealed off the warmth from inside I was wrapped in the frigid conditions outside. I felt a draining sensation of heat out from my core into the ground. The flakes of snow showered me in a bitter cold.

My feet dragged quickly against the sidewalk. Hobbling along the street and away from home.  I couldn't manage to pick them up fully to advance to a sprint or a normal pace, so I fell every ten steps or so. The broken bottles and old pieces of furniture or plastic that lined the street cut me up on each fall I took. The loud crashing sounds that I made caused me to wince. Often I looked back expecting to see someone coming to berate me or hear somebody  yell out of their window for me to keep quiet. But no lights from the surrounding windows flicked on. No dogs began to bark, and none of the people on the street came out from their front doors. All was silent except me. An eerie type of silent. It seemed that I held the only breath left on the street.

My possessions were few. A thin long sleeve and an overcoat hung from my shoulders and I was still wearing my pajama pants. I had only taken with me these clothes, and a revolver. It had five bullets in it. In this cold month the jacket was necessary. I wasn't prepared to use the gun. 

Despite my limp, my feet carried me from the street into an abandoned building on the edge of the town. Its windows on every floor were broken, and the paint was chipping off the facade. It had gone from a once vibrant red to a muddied brown, with splotches of uncovered brick all over. The shingles had broken off and fallen in a strip along the front of the place, and at the very top the roof was curved down, opening up the ceiling to the room below. There was no door on the front hinges. Instead it laid to the right of the door, flat on the floor inside. Right along the edges of the front, was black grime that creeped up the sides of the windows and the frame of the door. Inching its way inside. Like a parasite slowly taking over its host. 

As I looked around the lobby, the vague placement of furniture made it look to once have been a store or business that housed people upstairs. But the lack of paint, signs or leftover inventory inside, made it impossible to tell what it sold or offered. The whole business on the first floor had been scrubbed out. But it was still standing right in front of me, so no one cared to renovate it, or even get it demolished.

 My “habits” forced me out of my home, my old life, and my family. But it was a bad relationship and I wasn't able to leave. The thought of never having another drink again felt like the worst heartbreak, even though I would, contradictingly, give anything to rid myself of this self-inflicted torture. Everyday I had a devil and an angel on my shoulders. I was pulled to desire and then once I submitted, my head filled with thoughts of hatred and despair. I was pulled in two directions and soon I would rip in half.

The addiction is washed away by the booze, like how a furious fire is put out by a bucket of gasoline. Everyday was an eternal strive for relief that was never grasped. Now that I stripped myself of a home, my order of priorities was shifted and now survival in this cold is number one. This place was my sanctuary for the night. A new place to lay down. 

To me, it is now known as laying down, because I don't really sleep. I do, in the traditional biological sense, but I don't dream. I don't feel awake. I don't feel as if anything has happened at all. The thoughts cease and time goes by when I lay down.

 This was an old coal mining town that had since been sucked of any prosperity it once had. It became plagued with poverty and drug abuse. As the years went by, time slowly seemed to stop. As if the town had aged for long enough and now it was dead. It was a cadaver with snails, and maggots and worms still living off of the little it gave. Now that I was alone it only showed the true hopelessness these places exuded. 

How long will it take for towns like this to completely decompose? Maybe nature will take it over and it will be as a lost ancient tomb or temple hidden away in a jungle. Or maybe the concrete and old wood will crumble down until the town is nothing but a pile of rubble, I thought to myself. 

The handrail and steps creaked loudly as I carried myself up to the second floor. One of the rooms down the hallway opened up to a bedroom right before me. It had a twin bed, with only the mattress, and a bedside table remaining. There was also a small kitchen area and a doorway that led to another section of the apartment. I bounced a few times on the spring mattress, trying to muster some sort of a chuckle, or slight smirk. However, my face sat cold and unmoving. Then I lied fully down, curling myself up so that the center of my body stored as much heat as possible. I placed my overcoat over top of my face and body to protect it from the harsh winds. My gun was held in the nest created by my curled figure and the jacket.  Desperately, I tried to escape into a calm state. But I shake in the cold. 

Suddenly, shortly after I had closed my eyes, a sound started to echo throughout the whole building. A strange sound that offset the silence of the town. From down the stairs, there was a rustling. Like that of a racoon or small animal rummaging through the garbage, looking for something to eat. But not quite. It sounded dampened; it didn't have the usual harsh sounds of rat claws. It was similar to a small drum being struck lightly. And it repeated with purpose, not of some confused animal unsure of where it was. It had a distinct rhythm, of a walking pace.

The sound crept further near, and I could hear in between the soft drumming sound, a whispering sound. In a way it was musical. Very melodic, but not of a voice, or any instrument that I had heard. It was angelic, and pure, no chance of mistakes from a human musician. 

I peaked my head out of the room and looked towards the top of the stairs. A white glow illuminated the hallway, and the center of this glow held the figure of a person. They were completely white, and it was evident that the noise was coming from them. But they weren't singing; the light and the sound just radiated out from them. 

They seemed to have spotted me. I ducked my head back into the room, and I pulled my jacked over top again. The light drumming sound grew louder, which now I knew to be the footsteps of this phantom. The glow grew brighter and brighter until it was so bright that my eyes couldn't stand to be open any longer.

The footsteps grew closer and closer and walked up into the room and right in front of the bed. They halted. Right next to me The pounding persisted in my chest, trying to break its way out of my ribs. Now I couldn't even fake that I was asleep. It knew.

 I could feel the cold touch of a hand on my shoulder. So cold it passed through my jacket and onto my bare skin. I did nothing. It pulled the jacket off of my shoulders slowly, and gently. 

Now that my jacket was off of my shoulder, I had no other defense than to close my eyes as tightly as possible and curl up like a coward. The ghost hand fell off of me. But with that came a strong buzzing sound. A dark droning that filled my ears completely. The noise grasped hold of me and soon involuntarily I felt my eyes being forced open. My attempts to combat this were futile. This godly force overpowered me. 

Now I gazed up at the figure who stood above me. He did not have a look of anger or malice on his face. He smiled. 

This confused me. And I felt a sense of anger come over me. I jerked and sat myself up violently. I passed through the ghost as I ran, and sprinted out of that house. As I looked back I could see the glow from the second floor window. It did not move. And it did not chase me. But it looked out of the window. Down at me. And he smiled.

Further down the street I ran; into an alleyway between two houses, and amongst the trash bins, I hid. That night I heard no more of the sound, or saw any bright lights heading towards me. But I did not sleep

The next morning was all the same. The previous day from morning until dusk was all a blur, except for the spirit I had encountered. But I tried to knock it out of my head.

That day I had made my way out of the town, and followed a path off of the main road that ran through the town. Where it branched off seemed to be a well traveled path, or at least well traveled enough in the past, for it to have no more grass grown in the center. It wasn't graveled, but the dirt was compacted so much that it served as stone. 

This path led deep into the woods. The two tracks of large trucks were embedded into the road. Up ahead was a yellow sign and big iron gate. The sign read, “ Levine Power Plant”.

After passing the gate, an open clearing of forest laid before me. And a metal building in the center. Several bricks had escaped the sides of the building and littered the surrounding area. The windows were broken. And once again spray painted graffiti covered every square inch of the exterior. 

As I walked in, I was sure to not cut myself on any outwards sticking metal scraps or shards of glass that covered the floor. The ceilings were high and the interior was completely filled with these tall metal scaffolding ladders and platforms. It was interesting to see all of the heavy machinery and equipment, though I had no idea what it was used for. There were also big bins on the floor, which were empty, except for  black powder in the bottom, and a thick layer of dust. 

This I had decided would be my sanctuary for the night; partly because I had nowhere else to go and partly because I was drawn to this place. It was brooding and bold. My desire to explore was filled, whether I liked it or not. I had to keep moving. These places lacked enough resources for me to settle down.

When I was younger I had always wanted to explore abandoned places. My family never allowed this. So as a compromise to myself, I had gotten into urban exploration forums online, to see what I couldn't in person. I must admit, I was envious of the mostly teenagers and young adults who would upload the posts online and grow a following of people who would comment and review what they had found. And the history geek in me was particularly interested in the posts of old buildings like mansions or hospitals. Maybe once in a while, there would be a person who found a place with antique medical equipment or artwork and furniture that was left untouched. But for the most part, in the photos, the sites were usually covered with spray painted messages of profanity and crude drawings. Anything of value was taken by the explorer posting the image, or the people before it. And it was assumed by me that someone would have reached even the most intact area that was rich with history. So I never really had a motive to travel out to these places. But I would have never imagined that now, at my age, I would be living out a “dream” like this. 

Up on the second floor I spotted a space tucked away from the windows and what could be a mattress. Likely another squatter had left it there. But I could hear no sound of another person anywhere in the place; which was a positive sign. 

I walked carefully up one of the janky, metal staircases and made my way to the spot. Dust and old spider webs covered each wall.

As the sun started to set, I layed down once again. This time on a mattress. I looked out at the surrounding stairways. My brain started to form them into different shapes. The staircase would become slides or parts of a jungle gym that monkeys could swing and climb on. Or maybe a giant metal serpent that slithered around projecting the plant like a dragon over gold. Even when I would close my eyes, I could see shapes and different colors. Red swirls and little spots of yellow. Then it changed like a kaleidoscope to greens and blues. When my mind got so bored of this, I would eventually pass out. 

But I awoke not too long after I had started to drift off. There was a sharp gust of wind that blew through the cracks and empty spaces in the plant. A howling sound echoed off of the walls. And after this I could hear a soft drumming sound; identical to the one I heard last night. Right beneath me. The sounds of footsteps on metal just a floor below, felt like a stab into my back with each foot laid down. As I looked to my right I could see a bright white light illuminate the floor below me. A large lump formed in my throat.

 How could this spirit still be following me?

This time I was not going to let him get close to me. I was done with being a complacent, fearful baby. No matter how afraid I was, I wasn't going to let the ghost sense it. 

 As I saw the spirit climb the stairs that led to my makeshift room, I leapt up. To prepare myself, I moved into a dueling position with the ghost. As he walked towards,  I walked back. 

 He stared deep into me, grabbing hold of my stare, and he wore the same smile on his face. In his pale, see-through eyes, he had an expression that was hard to decipher. Happy and sad at the same time. Like he pitied me. A rush of anger filled me once again. I tried showing him my discontent with furrowed eyebrows and an angry scowl, and walked back away from him. He no longer walked towards me. 

I wasn't going to be pulled into this hypnosis that he had held me in last night. There was no way I was going to risk being pulled into a trick of a devil or evil spirit, who was trying to punish me. A devil who looked down upon me so condescendingly, as if I didn't know what he was planning. I ran.

This time, as I was making my escape, the loud droning sound did not resound.  And the paralysis did not overtake me. I jumped out of a window and onto an awning. But I heard something. This however was not the angelic music. It was a soft and familiar voice.

“Wait.” it said faintly.

The next morning I still held the panic in my chest. No longer was my aim food or shelter. My pace increased to a desperate speed walk; I would have ran if I had the energy.

Even when the sun shone from behind the clouds, I kept looking over my shoulder. Expecting something. Anything. No matter how small the thing, I would look behind myself. There were times where a branch would snap, a voice would be heard, or a footstep would crunch on the snow behind me. And then nothing would be there. 

The power plant was now far away, deep in the woods behind me. A road lay up ahead. No cars seemed to have traveled along it for quite some time. The township had not got to fixing the numerous potholes that covered it. And I could see that nature was taking over. There was no need to walk along the side, so I walked in the center. It was a smoother walk, with less hazards to me in my unstable state, and kept me grounded. 

The sky was the same. The trees repeated on a continuous loop forever it seemed. I heard no birds, or a rustling of any animals in the woods. Just the wind that whistled through. 

After what felt like about half an hour, the trees became less and less and out of the woods were two huge fields on either side of the road. There were still trees along it every thirty feet or so. The fields had been harvested and I could see the rolling hills clearly. On the left there was one barn and farmhouse in the distance. It was hard to tell if it was occupied. The lights were not on. No cars were parked outside, and no smoke was billowing out of one of the chimneys. On the right side, there was nothing but the same forest I had walked through, far away. I continued on the road.

A little ways up ahead, the road split into a fork. I chose the left path, based on a stupid phrase I made up as a kid. “Left is always the right way.” Maybe some childhood wonder would help me to make a correct choice, just this once. And sure enough, after a couple minutes of walking I could see that it led to the house. 

The road blended into a smaller dirt road apart from the driveway that led to the farmhouse. It reminded me of the driveway I walked home from school many years ago. I had also lived in a rural type of house like this. I could almost hear my fathers greeting from the front steps of the porch. 

As I gradually made my way to the front of the house, I could see a small shed to the right and a dog house to the left. No one was there. I could see now that this house was abandoned. The steps and porch floorboards creaked as I walked through the unlocked door. 

The feeling of nostalgia punched me in the face as I took in my surroundings. Every aspect reminded me of home. The style of the curtains, the leather coaches, the slightly yellowed wallpaper. Even the scent drew me further in. It had a calming effect on me. I walked around to a cabinet next to a cracked television. It had framed photographs of a family. Some with whom I assumed to be the father and mother. Some with a son, and his siblings. And one in the center with all. I stepped out of the living room and shuffled to the kitchen in the back. It had some loose papers that covered the counter. The dining room table and chairs that were halfway in, like someone had forgotten to push them all the way. All of the glasses and dishes were neatly put away in the cabinets above.

 A cold breeze swept through the house. I could hear a soft rumbling in the distance. A storm was coming. 

I walked back into the living room and stepped onto the staircase on the opposite side of the room. The second floor was one hallway with two doors on either side. 

The first door on the left opened with a bit of force. It seemed to be an old storage room. It was filled with cardboard boxes and paintings that leaned up against each other. The walls were bare; the only piece of furniture was a bookcase with a couple worn books laid flat.

 The first room on the right side was a bathroom however. It had the same aesthetic as the previous room. Dusty, austere, and thankfully unused. None of the pipes had water pumping in them for what I assumed to be years. I didn't want to turn them on and then have cockroaches crawl out the faucet. In the back of the hallway there were two bedrooms. In the one on the left, the walls were painted a dusty, baby blue and there was wallpaper on the bottom half. It had elephants and other cartoon circus animals. At the front corner was a small bed that still had a duvet on it. Nothing in the house had looked like it had been touched in years. Like it was paused in place. Part of me felt bad for having disrupted such a peaceful, unmoving home. The rest of the room had normal childhood bedroom things. Such as a dresser, a closet, and an electric train set on the floor near the foot of the bed. The view from the window was drab yet calm. 

I could imagine a boy looking out of this window and seeing the years go by. Soft snow in winter, maybe a snowman outside. During spring there was a garden with abundant fruits or flowers. Summer time could be spent running around, tending to animals, or laying in the fields. And once fall came around he could be delighted by the sight of the changing leaves.

The bed was unbelievably comfortable. I was wrapped up in the comfort of being in a real bed. The silence around me brought me solace. No one was there. I closed my eyes. The muscles completely relaxed and I could feel myself melt into the sheets.

A cold draft gently flowed into the room. I did not bat an eye. But I turned to face the wall, my back facing the colder winds, in order to insulate myself. I slept soundly.

About halfway through the night, I awoke to a cold hand pressed against my back. It was the same feeling I felt that first night. The blood was pumping aggressively in my veins. I was like a caged animal with nowhere to go. The ghost had seized me. I didn't know if it was going to sink its sharp teeth into my neck, to suck out my soul. Or drag me down to the deepest pits of hell. In a cowardly attempt I tried to pretend like I couldn't sense it. If I could see it then it couldn't see me, though it was touching me and obviously knew I was there. A pathetic sight was this. A grown man who couldn't even face the skeletons in his own closet. 

After a few minutes, he said, “Kid, it's okay, I forgive you.”

I shifted my body to face the ghost. I could see his face clearly now. He smiled down at me as if he was tucking me in for the very last time. 

The same shirt he was wearing that night was pale white, almost bluish. It almost defied gravity, like a peaceful jellyfish floating in the pitch black water. His skin, hair, and the rest of his outfit was this color. The only thing that stuck out was the red blotch on his abdomen. 

“ I just wanted to see you again. ” he said in response to my silence. “ You were drunk, please believe me when I say I know you didn't mean to.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. This was one rare occasion I let myself cry. And my father noticed this. He wrapped his ghostly arms around me. The bitter coldness, I couldn't feel. I don't remember him ever leaving my side. I laid, curled in the fetal position beside him, one last time.

Early in the morning, I was awoken by the sound of sirens outside. It was pitch black outside. Too early for the sun to be up. The red and blue lights illuminated my face. I took the revolver out of my pocket. Before long I could hear yelling from the cops outside. 

“We know he's armed! Go in carefully!” I heard a loud, commanding voice say. 

There were also hushed voices from the others. The officers walk up the stairs and begin to inch their way to this room. The door popped off its brittle hinges with ease. 

“Drop the gun, son! Drop the gun! Don't do anything you'll regret!” the officer said to me.

I took my finger off the trigger and pointed my revolver to the entire squad of officers.