The Lady In The Walls

Enduring Bones Halloween Challenge #3

Sometimes I wake up in my dining

and sometimes I wake up

in the attic

a few days later I might wake up in the basement and on that same day

it’s possible I will wake up under the kitchen window

where the earth is soft because the rain gutter gave way years ago

and that entire patch of ground is a soupy mess even in the Summer.


Sometimes I fall asleep in the little space behind the bathroom wall

where the medicine cabinet used to hang over the sink.


But no matter where I wake up and where I fall asleep

all of those parts of me

that the rats and mice and feral cats have dragged from floor to floor

in my dead and empty house

you can hear me crying out, after I’ve had a bad dream

about that night my husband came home and smothered me in my sleep

and them ran away with his girlfriend with the nicotine stained finger tips

you can hear me crying in despair and rage

from everywhere.

How Shirley Haunted A House

Today for Linda G Hill’s One Liner Wednesday I’ve chosen this quote from Shirley Jackson about her process for writing  ghost stories-

She read ” Little Women ” to chase away the ghosts that filled her head  before she went to sleep-

me,  I eat something spicy and hope for the best ( wink ).

I hope you enjoy her quote and the two haunted houses I dug up for you to look at:

The Villisca Ax Murders House

I was already doing a lot of splendid research reading all the books about ghosts I could get hold of, and particularly true ghost stories – so much so that it became necessary for me to read a chapter of _Little Women_ every night before I turned out the light – and at the same time I was collecting pictures of houses, particularly odd houses, to see what I could find to make into a suitable haunted house.

Shirley Jackson

Abandoned Home

My Shivering Bones

RDP Wednesday: MIST

“Misty Forest” by Maciej Zamojski

Do you know that

when the fog

crawls across the rocks, through the woods, across the lake

to my front door

I can hear it breathing?

That’s how I know it’s alive.


Do you know that when it reaches the edge of my yard-

the very edge of my yard where my porch light ends and the darkness begins

a thin dark line smudged at the edges

it sighs a little and stops where the light is

and I can hear the grass and flowers and the dry dead leaves on the ground popping like

corn in a cast iron pot, a treat from a long  time ago?


Sometimes I forget to turn the porch light on

I forget to snap on the lamp in my living room window

and the mist  crosses my yard to my house

and when it arrives it  gently touches each panes of glass

it caresses each crack, each loose board

it takes it’s time before it creeps in and settles down with me

for the night

and it tells it’s stories to my shivering bones.

Andrew Wyeth Incoming Fog