“This is it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. The place has been here for almost a hundred years, but the trouble really started about fifty years ago.”
She continued walking up the road toward the house. He followed.
She said, “Some kid went inside and vanished. They found a window open around back, and some of his stuff inside. Nothing else.”
She walked up to the old mailbox and pulled it open. It was empty. She grunted, then slammed it shut.
“That was your uncle.” He said it rather than asking.
She shifted the backpack on her shoulder and stopped. The yard of the old house was overgrown. The house, which might once have been white but was now a faded gray, peeked above the tall grass. At here feet was the remains of a gravel path which looked like it had once led up to the front door.
“I’m surprised it’s still standing,” he said.
She grunted again. “Rumor is some rich family owns the place. Forbid or paid off the county to leave it along.”
She exhaled slowly. He watched her take the backpack off her back, she it on the ground and unzip it, and then pull out a crowbar. She flashed him a smile.
She pinned him with a speculative glare. “Yeah, I’m serious. I’m going to see what’s in there. You coming?”
Second ticked by. She shifted her weight and sighed impatiently.
He shrugged. ‘Fine. Yeah. Let’s go,”
Together they fought their way through the tall grass, toward the old ruin of a house.
I’m not going to lie…I missed a few entries this weekend.
I’m not sure that the 100 Days of Words project I’m working on means 100 Continuous Day of Words.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Because it sounds better than the truth.
I was bitten by a radioactive Easter bunny on Saturday at the Midway Plaza rest stop on the Pennsylvania turnpike. I found that I could hop very quickly, could color eggs with my mind, and could sense small children nearby. Also, the carrot craving was incredible and disturbing.
See? I told you.
He closed his eyes, and he dreamed.
He saw her again, just like last night, next to the fountain, beneath the canopy of fluffy pink leaves.
“You,” he said.
“Grndlsnayf, pergalon,” she whispered back breathily.
“Yes,” he whispered back, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers in a kiss.
He took her hand in his. She smiled. They stood and watched the sunset over the cotton candy forest.
And then the carnivorous squirrels poured out of the trees and ate them.
doesn’t like me
as I like it.
was a good