Creep across floorboards, avoid the ones that creak, step here, and here, and here. Choose the window that slides easy, slip out and shimmy down. Tiptoe through cold, wet grass between streetlights and run like a ship with the spinnaker set.
The graveyard is not far; friends are waiting in their boxes in their holes in the ground. Their bones will clatter together and clamber up and out, and dance and tell their stories and sing until the time comes to rest again or until they fall into exhaustion and dust. They are beyond caring which outcome awaits them tonight.
Interesting - 1 ?ghost? ?spirit? lives in a house while the others are 6 feet under -ReplyDelete
I'm thinking kid with some undead friends.Delete
I agree with David, the cemetery was always a perfect place to meet. Good work.ReplyDelete
This reminds me of Neil Gaiman's "The Graveyard Book," high compliment indeed.ReplyDelete
Thank you so much :-)Delete
I'm trying to figure out how I can stump you Mr. Blackstone. ;) This was quick and tight, yet full of texture. Superb!ReplyDelete
p.s. I got a malware warning from my virus protection software when I came to your site. Hasn't happened before, and indicated "Twitter buttons". You may want to look into that.
odd. I'm sure it's just one of those things where somebody 'reports' a site.Delete