Starting a Prophesy

It was dark outside as I stumbled down the empty road. I was tired. It was wet, and I wanted to go home. A cat strayed across my path, kicking leaves into the wind. "...going to be cold for October," the newscaster had said. My breath hit the air weaving tiny whisps of frost into the night. I glanced up. Mrs. Porter's house swayed at me, weak on it's hinges. I was afraid of her green hair, her bulging stomach, her scary yippy dogs- the way she leaned on her cane in such a menacing fashion. She scared me. The side walk took an ominous dip in its path as I came closer to the shack. her fence looked centuries old. I licked my lips for some kind of reassurance but none came. Her door stood ajar slightly and I pushed it. Prs. Porter stared at me, "You rude little boy. How dare you come into my house without knocking!"