Once he was in the next town over, he knew he'd be a little more safe now. There were more brushy areas around this town. By the signs he saw, this strange, new town was called Painted Bunting, USA. He thought that naming a town after a bird seemed pretty stupid, but hey, painted buntings were really pretty birds, he supposed. A bit too colorful for his taste, but it would do. His main goal was to find a spot that no one could find him, and just hide out there until he could get a job or something, and gather up enough money to live somewhere. He wasn't entirely sure if that's how it even worked, but he could try. Thoughts and emotions kept colliding and making it difficult to really think of most anything. Fear kept telling him to run even further, even though he was sure his brother wouldn't bother to look for him at all, much less in the town over. An excited feeling was pushing him to do anything that came to mind as long as it was furthing how lost he was. The sad feeling was telling him to give up, and go home, or better yet, not to go home, and just stay here until he dies. That was nothing out of the ordinary for him, though.

The cool sidewalks of the small neighborhood guided him to whatever would await him here. The sun had begun to rise, and many houses were silhouetted against the pink and orange shades of the morning, each illuminated with thin, golden outlines. He would have thought it was beautiful, if he liked colors anymore. Now, all this was just attacking his senses and he would've liked to have found some dark place like a forest or a house by now. He supposed it was the drawback to his newfound freedom, and he wasn't about to trade that out for anything, even if the sun hurt like hell, and even if the medication was beginning to wear off, and he wasn't sure how much he had with him. Not to mention, a place to sleep would be nice, too. He had gone many nights without sleeping. He once stayed up for an entire week. Then again, he could also sleep for a week. His sleeping habits were pretty contradictory and unorthodox. But no matter how long he could stay up alone in his room, he had been walking all night. Not to mention the dizziness he felt whenever he would take that many painkillers had been his main driving force, and now that it was starting to wear off, he just felt extremely lethargic.

"Hey mister!" Squeaked a voice behind him. He turned, and saw a boy behind him, holding a basketball. "Mister, you are heading towards Scary Street. I haven't seen you before, so I'm guessing you don't know, but people here don't just go down Scary Street."

Strong Sad replied annoyed, "Well, the sign says that this is actually Raven Street. And I haven't seen you before, and I'm guessing you don't know, little kids don't usually play outside right at sunrise."

"I always come out here to practice basketball as soon as I wake up," the kid retorted, "And we call that block of Raven Street "Scary Street" because of the spooky house over there. It's a few blocks away from here, but maybe you can see it?"

Strong Sad looked over where the boy was pointing. He didn't see anything. "Kid, I'm busy. I have no time for your pranks!" he scolded angrily. He continued on his way.

"Don't call me 'kid,' my name is Blake," the kid scowled, "And I'm telling the truth. They say it's haunted, and if you walk past it, the spirits with it might pull out your soul through your ears and cannibalize it!"

"Blake," Strong Sad replied, "There are a few reasons why what you just told me won't stop me. One, I think haunted stuff is cool, and now I just want to see this house. Two, I have tried to contact ghosts many times and have failed every time. Although ghosts are real, I doubt that I'll ever see one because they always avoid me. Three, I don't care if my soul gets cannibalized. I just don't."

"Oh," Blake responded dully. That last point was rather depressing, and Blake needed a moment to process it.

Strong Sad continued his way down Raven Street, both slightly bothered that the id was probably just a huge liar, and intrigued of what he might find. There was a slight curve in the street where a large tree grew, obscuring the view of what was around the corner. When he passed it, he stopped dead in his tracks. Around the tree was house. The grounds around it were unkempt, with a couple of twisted around trees growing branches every which way, and grass a foot high that was still bedraggled with a handful dead leaves from last fall, though it was now midsummer. The house itself was white with chipping paint revealing a sickly pale tan beneath. The windows were black, and there was a fine layer of dust over them, concealing the inside from view. The shingles were a purplish gray color, and a few had slipped from their place and were now drooping crookedly in a very pathetic fashion. It looked like it either had two stories, or one story and a sizable attic. So the kid was telling the truth; there was a "House on Spooky Street" here. It wasn't really that over the top, though. Sure it was rundown, but it wasn't over the top spooky. There was no lock on the door. The windows weren't boarded up. There was no ominous warning posted on the door, or on a sign on the lawn. It was just a house that was really messed up, and probably used to be really pretty in its prime. He didn't feel scared around this house, he felt pitiful and sad for it.

It really wasn't that bad of a house. He didn't feel a presence around it. There was no chill in the air, nor a sudden feeling of uneasiness or feeling of being watched that most paranormal experts say indicates the presence of a detached ghost, let alone a hostile one that is active. He was quite a fan of paranormal investigators, as a firm believer in ghosts. That kid might have helped Strong Sad with one thing, though. The sun was awful bright by now, and it would only get worse from here. This house is right here, clearly unhaunted as far as he could tell, and no one would bother him here. He just hoped that the house wasn't private property or something. He checked to make sure no one was looking, just in case, but the sleepy town of Painting Bunting still seemed to be at peace here, thank God. Hopefully, there was only one person like Blake in this neighborhood.

After making sure he was alone, Strong Sad did something that would've made any citizen of Painted Bunting cry out in abject horror: He walked up to the door, and gave it a pull. The door opened quite easily to his surprise. He stepped inside and closed it behind him.just enough light came through the dust suffocating the windows for him to be able to fish the flashlight he had brought along with him. Flicking it on, he found that that house was fully furnished and everything, like the last person to live in it left suddenly, and left everything behind. Kinda like I did... He thought to himself, with a small pang of guilt that he immediately abandoned. He would feel guiltless about this decision; he knew it was good for him, and he wasn't going to feel bad about it.

The door seemed to lead into a living room type area. There was a pale blue couch against the wall. About a foot and a half away from it was coffee table, which was also glazed over with dust. The room was rather small, and the only other thing in it was a shelf that was lined with ceramic figurines. As unsettling as this all was, and as eager he was to explore the rest of the house, the lethargic feeling over him was dragging at him, and all he really wanted to do after walking all night was sleep. Of course, he knew it was pretty stupid to enter a house that someone said was haunted and just go to sleep right away, but what else could he do? And even so, like mentioned before, the house didn't really feel haunted, and you can usually sense these kinds of things. Besides, Strong Sad did not fear death, and if his soul got cannibalized, he honestly would just welcome it. He laid down on the couch, which kicked up a small cloud of dust underneath him. It didn't really bother him. After everything, the extensive activity all night, and how long he had been awake for, and his frazzled emotional state he was constantly in, it was rather easy to fall asleep, even in a strange house rumored (but unlikely) to be haunted.

((I apologise for the title being a pun))