Homecoming by P.F. Grazioli

Night 2 o’clock… road that leads to an abandoned mansion on a hill… a torn gate leads to a

boulevard bordered by immobile statues… eternal guardians observing me…

heavy as tombstone is their judgement: Outsider!

The dark clouds get open… the moon reveals itself bringing those stone ghosts back to life… I’m

able to distinguish their faces now.

Unadorned courtyard and neglected winter garden immortalized in their decadence by an endless

immobility… cold air surrounds me suddendly.

The flickering flame of my lantern enlightens the entrance drawing grotesque shadows on the

walls… a macabre dance of ghosts accompanies me in my exploration.

Marble stairs lead to the upper floor… corridor with empty rooms with open doors like dark caves

invaded by a gloomy silence… an indefinite noise comes from one of them.

Lantern reveals dilapidated room… dusty old furniture covered by cobwebs and worn walls… empty

spaces where once there were paintings.

Old rocking chair moves as if moved by invisible hand… on it there is an old frame with a

photograph inside.

A strong sense of anguish comes over me…. I pick up the frame… I look at it terrified.

Yes, terrified… but then, I undestand.

The image shows me motionless on a bed…two silver coins cover my eyes.

Now the rocking chair doesn’t move anymore…. I have returned home.

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