The short narrow window had been creaking back and forth gently in the breeze for 2 years, patiently waiting for one of the right disposition or need to take a peek. Summer had passed, the nights grew longer and a brisk chill was in the air. Alone and shivering I wedged myself up into the window frame, peering into a toilette abandonné. My fingers drew deep trenches through the dust and climbing down onto the cistern, then the porcelain itself it was clear none had passed through in quite some time. By the shafts of streetlight I could see no footprints but my own. If any were coming in and out they were using the doors. However they were all locked, I'd checked them first. The house was quiet and still, nothing was stirring, moving, breathing.
I moved slowly and breathed silently, expecting an encounter at every turn. While my eyes adjusted to the gloom I ran my fingers along the walls, feeling the old textured wallpaper peeling and crumbling away into dust. I stepped over the dried crunchy leaves which had blown in through the window and progressed into a space between a large empty room to the left, the front door and staircase to the right. Old lino tiles dried and turning up at the edges crinkled softly beneath my feet and old posters sagged from the walls. It was bare and dusty, deserted. Trees swaying in the wind outside cast shifting shadows through the mottled glass illuminating the old wooden stairs in a golden yellow hue. If anyone was living here, they'd surely be upstairs. With long slow deliberate steps I crept up.