Mrs. Pratchett's House

This place is revolting; there is mold everywhere. It’s like a receptacle for disposing food and rubbish. No, I’m not talking about a trash can. I’m talking about Mrs. Pratchett’s house. My mother sent me over here to look after her because she’s been missing for a while. The house was a dingy gray Victoriana. The brickwork was crumbling away. There was a sinister threat within. The path to the door was overgrown with bushes whose thorns reached out to capture me. I walk through the open door and the floor didn’t show any signs of water, which is astonishing because last night it rained. I am currently standing in what appears to be the living room, or the dining room according to all the food everywhere. Milk way past their expiration date, the doors are a shade of many colors, rotten pizza on the ceiling fan, little bits of candy sprinkled on the floor like a cupcake. Dead, wilted brown flowers in a poorly chosen vase. I mean a carnation pink vase with this ugly mustard yellow walls? That is a fashion don’t. There is a putrid smell, like a dead animal mixed with body odor. I assume it was probably one of the many cats that ate the chocolate. Wondering how a person could be this disheveled, I walk over to the fireplace and see coal. There’s nothing unusual about that except it’s still warm. A cat scampers across my feet to the back of the couch. Thinking "there probably shouldn’t be another dead cat while I’m here." I go and find some food for it to eat and set out a bowl. I then walk to look behind the couch to check on it. Guess what? It’s not a dead cat that I was smelling, it was a human corpse. Being closer there was a penetrating smell, as if a dozen eggs had been left out to rot. It’s unclear to me how long he’s been dead ...

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..., the sun is coming up. My mom’s home!” I scream for my mother at the top of my lungs and bash into the door, making as much noise as I could to attract her attention. It didn’t matter if I injured myself trying, I needed to get out of this situation. Mrs. Pratchett slowly coming back was delayed by the cats clawing at her saggy, wrinkly skin. A couple of them raced and disappeared through the wall. Mrs. Pratchett is still wrapped in a blanket of cats so, I went to look at where they were going. There was a secret entrance, just big enough to fit someone like me. I used a lot of strength to push away all the garbage and tried to crawl through. Mrs. Pratchett, now free, is leaping through the piles of trash and grabs her knife. I barely make it through before she slits the bottom of my leg. Limping, I hurry home. "What about her son?" I wonder. "Who cares? I’m alive."