The Fitch’s Farmhouse

Putting My Feet In The Dirt August Writing Prompt#17: Shadow Monsters

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on

Bleached  bones

asleep in a field

a tangle of weeds have buried  the dirt road  nothing grows out  here anymore.


Weathered boards, rusty nails-

The Fitch House looks out to the west with

eyeless window frames

broken furniture in the living room, unmade beds waiting for fresh linen in the bedrooms upstairs

a clock grandfather clock comes to life when it rains

the basement door is locked and the key is buried

in the garden where Mrs. Fitch used to grow tomatoes and borage.


Trees out front

a creek out back

where the shadow monsters drink

when they are thirsty and they think they are alone and no one is watching them

from the Fitch’s Farmhouse and their  field full of bleached  and sleeping bones.









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