Rift #writephoto

Sue’s #WritePhoto prompt:

I see the beginnings of a valley
I see distances starting to form
A natural split happening
A land that will become torn
Will beauty dissipate
Or will it double?
Will we have peace
or trouble?
Brexit?
Rift...

Ritu 2019

#writephoto

Sign #writephoto

Sue is back with a new #WritePhoto prompt.

Always welcome here
Witches, Wizards, Mystic folk
Fairies, Goblins too!
We all need to quench our thirst
Come in for a tasty brew!

Ritu 2019

#writephoto

#WritePhoto – Tranquil

Sue’s #WritePhoto prompt:

Now many of you asked for a sequel to last week’s prompt… (did you read it? If not, click here!) I shall try, using this picture…

Through the doorway, all I can see are bones.

Or skeletons.

Rooted to the spot, I glance back at the old woman who is standing there, staring at me.

“Grace, oh my dear Grace. I have been waiting for so long… Where did you go?” She creaks over, slowly, each step looks like she’s going to fall at any moment.

I inch back until I am against the closed front door.

“Come, Grace. They are all so excited. You must meet them.”

Finding my voice, I squeak, “Who?”

“Everyone! Your whole family. We knew you’d come back one day.”

Her frail hand circles my wrist and gently pulls me. I’m scared I’ll hurt her, so instead of pulling away, I gingerly follow her. She looks ancient.

We walk towards that room. The room full of skeletons.

There is a stench of decay as we approach the door and I balk at the sight of three skeletons sat around a table set for afternoon tea; except the plates are filled with the remnants of decomposed food, teacups empty.

“Look, everyone! Look who has come back. It’s our Grace.”

Rheumy eyes look back at me, and though a cold slice of fear is pulsing through my veins, I feel a shot of sorrow join it.

“Sit down. Let me pour you tea. Oh, there’s no milk. Let me go and get some.”

She hobbles out of the door and I think this would be the ideal time to scarper, when my eye catches sight of a yellowing newspaper on the sideboard.

“Saving Grace! Can They Save Her?” the headline screamed.

I look closer to read what the article says.

And feel shock, sympathy and fear again.

She lost her daughter, Grace, when she was 14 – my age – under mysterious circumstances. Abducted from her bedroom.

Then I see the photograph.

It’s me.

Or at least it looks like me.

A shuffling sound alerts me to her entering the room again with a small jug in her hand.

It’s empty.

She sits down and indicates to an empty space next to her.

I’m not sure why, but I go and sit beside her.

She puts her withered fingers on top of mine and smiles at me.

“I’m so glad you are home Grace. I can finally sleep now.”

She sinks back into her chair and closes her eyes.

If she’s sleeping, I can sneak out.

I try and lift her hand gently off me and as I move it, it slips, and her arm falls, swinging like a dead weight.

But she doesn’t stir.

Her face is just a picture of serenity.

She’s dead. I’m sure.

Jeez, what am I going to do? I’m sat in a creep old house with a possibly dead woman, and a bunch of skeletons around a table.

My phone. Why didn’t think of that earlier?

I root around in my pocket and quickly dial my Nanna.

*

It’s been a surreal few weeks.

The police came. The ambulance came.

I had to give a statement.

She was dead, yes, and she took a lot of secrets with her, but one thing was for sure. She had been waiting for her missing daughter to come home, and seeing me had given her that release.

Of course, being dead she isn’t going to face any charges, but those skeletons? They were members of her family who had been poisoned, for some unknown reason. I don’t even know who they were.

But yesterday I had to go to the funeral. They laid her to rest at the family burial plot, at the back of the creepy house.

And it was beautiful.

Who’d have thought there was a glade in the middle of our town? Trees surrounding a small body of water. And a cluster of headstones. A pretty tranquil place to rest in peace.

Apparently there’s no other family, so the house is being cleared and sold.

Not sure I’d want to live somewhere with a history.

And that other girl who went missing? She’s still not back.

Some mysteries will never be solved.

#writephoto

Invitation #writephoto

Sue’s #WritePhoto prompt:

Every day, we walk past that gate.

It looks so creepy, and the walls are covered with this green litchen moss that indicates no-one really looked after the place.

I always wonder what is behind it though. The grounds inside are so overgrown that there is no way of glimpsing the house that it guards. Nanna said that it had been a beautiful house when she was young. There were always streams of folk in and out, parties happening regularly. She remembers standing near the gate with her friends, as a young girl, hoping to catch a glimpse of the beautiful frocks that the ladies visiting the house wore.

Then one day, the gates mysteriously closed, and never opened again.

Mummy says that bad things happened there. Someone died, and a child went missing. Nanna can’t recall what exactly happened. When I ask her, she just reminisces about pretty dresses.

There are so many rumours amongst the village.

A happy, fortunate family who suddenly befell an awful tragedy, with the man of the house being mysteriously killed in his house and their only child, a girl, disappearing. They say the lady of the house still lives there, but I can’t work out how. She’d be older than Nanna if she was still alive, and Nanna is quite old…

But just the other day, there was a report of a child going missing. She goes to my school. Her brother’s not been in this week. They must be so scared. She my age. She isn’t really my friend, but anyway… she went missing, and no one can trace her, beyond leaving school to walk home.

She’s often walked the same way as me.

Where could she have gone?

Today, I’ve had Drama Club so I’m late walking back. Sarah, my best friend, doesn’t like Drama so she went home on her own, earlier.

It’s getting dark earlier and everywhere has an eerie feel about it, especially as I get closer to that gate…

But today there is something odd. One of the gate panels is slightly ajar. I’ve never seen it open before.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say. It’s a good thing my name’s not Cat… I push open the gate and step through.

The house is there, masked by overgrown plants. But no sign of anyone around.

Who might have opened that gate?

I just have to walk up a little further. It’d be rude not to. I have to push away some of the brambles that have taken over the path, laddering my school tights.

Great.

Mummy will kill me.

The house looms closer. It really does look like it could have been a grand place.

Oh My God!

The door opens.

A little woman is standing there.

“Come on in Grace. We’ve been expecting you.”

Something pulls me closer, even though my mind is telling me to just run back to the gate, and out.

My body keeps going, and before I know it, I am over the threshold.

My eyes adjust to the dimness of the light in the hallway, and as I glance to the right, through a door, what I see makes me gasp in horror, just as I hear the front door slam shut behnd me with certain finality.

Ritu 2019

Timeless – #WritePhoto

Sue’s #WritePhoto prompt:

Timeless fragments stand
As stationary sentries
They mark history

Ritu 2018
#writephoto

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