I hear his muffled, rustic tone from the other side of the door. “Do come in,” he says, “I’ve been expecting you.” The knob offers a labored sound, as if it needs oiling; more dissonant than a hyena’s laugh. The door creaks open. Upon stepping inside, the atmosphere is not the least bit welcoming: overturned furniture; cobwebs; a tarp of dust leaving no centimeter of creaky hardwood uncovered.

Nobody lives here. Nobody’s lived here for decades. But then what of my invitation?


7 thoughts on “Vacant

  1. Just a few sentences and you made my hair stand on end, Wordsmith. The casual way the story began was a trap I fell right into. Um, thanks a lot 🙂 BTW, I’ve gotta beg off group-writing: i’m not sure I’ve got the gestalt-imagination you and so many others are so good at.

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