The House

This is my first time back at Friday Fictoneers for a while. I’m happy to be back and many thanks to Rochelle, as always, for providing us with this prompt.


The House

Joey blamed it on trees rising like skeletons before the house.

Miriam blamed it on the fence with spokes arching like stakes.

Me? When I viewed that house with its innocuous siding and windows, I thought of curses, witches, blood.

And then we grew up.

After our tenth high school reunion, we congregated at O’Leary’s Pub where we tossed back a few shots of Bushmills.

“That house not haunted,” Joey slurred.

Somehow, we ended up there, staring through autumn trees at the house we’d maligned, when a lightning bolt seared the earth before us. Imagination or alcohol? Dust rose behind us.


27 thoughts on “The House

  1. Welcome back, Sascha. This reminds me of a dialogue between the anthropologist, Evans Pritchard, and one of his informants about the ideas of magic and rationality

  2. Old home is never haunted.dry trees are not symbol of any mystery because i don’t believe in existence of ghost,my dear!! But you have tried it a suspending touch ,so this post is interesting.

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