Artist Unknown

The note, written on smooth white lined paper read and tacked to my door read:

“Will you meet me at theHouse on the corner?”

It was signed ” your Father.”

I pried the tack up and flicked it over my porch railing and into a carpet of Saint John’s Wort that my Father hand planted around our home shortly after I was born.

Oh well Father, I thought- hope springs eternal-just like your pretty yellow flowers because in that moment I considered making the walk to theHouse on the corner- as far as  houses go, it is a good one.

There are skeletons in the basement, a noose hanging from the rafter in the attic, and there is something that slithers it’s way from under the bed in the master bedroom into the wardrobe with the cracked mirror when it thinks nobody is watching.

I crumpled up the note and dropped it at my feet.

No.

No I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll be going to the haunted house on the corner- it’s to crowded you see  and I like the house I am haunting now just fine.