A horrible place, this old house. (Over 16 Only)

It is a horrible place, this old house. The floors are soaked with rain and faeces, the windows are either dangerous jagged shards or filthy with god-knows-what. The boys have lurked here for years, not noticing the dirt and stink creep in, and innocent of the houses more criminal residents. It has been a refuge for forbidden conversations and experimentations, each more frowned on that the last, and all deathly sins.

First, they came here to eat sweets and play war games, and over time they have progressed to stolen pornography, their first heart-racing feel of a slippery condom, and even, for some, the terrifyingly tantalizing temptation of sodomistic urges.

As their needs and curiosities have grown and expanded, so this house has transformed to seedy grotto, as if to better satisfy their repressed desires. Or maybe to reflect back better the world as it appears to them.

Today, they have come again for no overt reason, to hang out and kill time before returning home from school. It looks the same; the smell is the same from the outside. The dull, dead windows betray no new secrets, and the sinister silence is their usual welcome.

They glance around, it would be a disaster to be spotted by a younger sibling, and though adults rarely use this path they are always careful. The coast is clear; they scramble over the crumbling wall and wade through the jungle garden, brambles tearing at them. They don’t bother with the front door, it’s locked, and the front windows are boarded again. Instead, they cross to the side of the building and climb through the opening where the living room window had been.

But it’s different today, something has changed. There is a sickening smell that makes the boys gag. They all stand in what was once a living room, looking at each other, waiting for someone else to say something. Except for their shuffling feet the house is quiet, and this quiet is now stifling; daring them into action; mocking their childish terrors. One boy cannot bear it and vomits up the wall, spraying himself in the process. His choked gurgling breaks the tension though, and the other boys melt with giggles, gasps of relief it wasn’t them who broke first.

Their vomit-soaked friend forgotten, they begin their usual trudging through the house to favorite spring-less chairs and intact boxes. The house is theirs, and now that they are not afraid, they laugh loudly at salacious jokes and pick noisy fights as they wander on their exploration. Each new visit always leads them to fresh treasure; dead birds and dogs, cigarette butts, used condoms, bottles of urine, discarded pink panties and bloody needles have been their haul so far.

From upstairs comes a yell, not a scream but a wet yelp, and then thunder as a boy stumbles down the bare wooden stairs. He is raving and beckoning to the other boys; his eyes pulsing in their sockets. He gestures back up the stairs and they cannot tell if he is terrified or excited to the point of climax.

Without hesitation the boys start up the stairs. As they climb the stench becomes overpowering, making the boards feel slippery under their feet, and making them reluctant to touch the walls and banister with their bare skin. It seems warmer up there, their flesh prickles and their breaths feel sticky, and inadequate.

When they reach the top the don’t know where to look, but the smell draws them instinctively on down the corridor to it’s source, like the teasing smell of pussy. The first boy reaches out to open the door, his hand covered by his sleeve as though the handle is hot. The boys behind him push up against his back, urging onwards into the next room. In that small space he can smell their rancid sweat, feel the heat of their bodies and their breath pressing him, forcing him forward.