Alone in the Night
Here is another flash fiction. The picture prompt was a dark abandoned house.
It sat alone, a memory of the night it all changed. Once happy voices echoed, but now only wind whistled through broken windows. Once feet danced and scurried, now only dead leaves scuttled and mice dashed across buckled floorboards.
How long had it been since the house had known life and love? Since it had known death and blood, shivering with the screams of its dying occupants?
Though its doors were sturdy, its windows locked, its walls a haven against the dangers outside, it could do nothing against the killer within, the one who lived inside those four walls, who’d grown there, twisted, dark, angry, waiting for something to take its fury out on…
If only the house could have stopped him, could have warned the others, but alas, it stood helpless, sheltering the slaughter, hiding it from public view, so the it was days before anyone found the bodies and the message painted on the wall in scarlet, a final curse to any who dared to read it. The smell lingered long after the remains were taken away, and the feeling of dark dread was even worse, permeating the very woodwork. Is it any wonder that it sits now, like a dark scar on the landscape, forlorn, unloved, abandoned, but never, ever, forgotten?
It actually makes me feel sad…Poor house.
Have a flash fiction-y kinda day!