Image credit Mike Vore ©
If the “No standing any time” sign was strictly adhered to, then the “No Trespassing” one was overkill. People were too scared of the place falling down they wouldn’t even park their vehicles out the front, let alone set foot on the sagging verandah.
The house had been abandoned many years, although remnants from the last family who’d lived there, littered the property. As kids we used to dare each other to take a souvenir; gain a glimpse into the lives of the ghosts who roamed there.
I remember the one (and only) time I’d ventured past the creaking struts of wooden scaffolding, and the front door. Gazing beyond the gloomy, dusty entrance hall, I could see that the house had been beautiful once. A proud family home; simple but well made. There was love in the plaster’s fabric.
My eye was drawn to a small wooden doll. Unlike everything else, she was not covered in dust and seemed smooth and warm, as though recently held. I called out, “Hello?” and in reply, heard a faint cry, “Hello?”
I turned on my heel and ran, never knowing if it was an echo of my own voice, or someone… something, else…
By Sarah ©2017
Prompt: Sunday Photo Fiction – July 16th 2017
Word count: 200 words