Ghost of an Idea

Word of the Day Challenge: CREEP

Photo by Photo Collections on Pexels.com

Remember the Ivy that ran along the top of the garden wall?

Remember how I asked you to cut it back and you said, ” It’s only a little bit of Ivy, what harm could it do?”

Remember how  we watched the spidery vines  gently lay  itself against the stones day by day?

Remember how the Ivy crushed everything it touched?

We never heard the stones being turned to rubble, shouldn’t we have heard something?

The Ivy slithered  over the top of the garden wall, it covered the trees in the garden, it snapped their trunks and broke their limbs and entombed them it their waxy, pungent leaves.

Remember how the Ivy climbed up the wall next to the kitchen and through my bedroom window?

It laid it’s vines against my neck and around my limbs.

It crushed my bones and turned my body to rubble.

That’s what happened, I think.

It wasn’t you, it couldn’t have been you. Your hands couldn never have treated me so cruelly.

It must have been the Ivy that crept along the top of our garden wall.

The Ivy that  you refused to cut back

that killed me in my sleep.

Photo by Jack Gittoes on Pexels.com

 

It’s Tuesday Somewhere

Putting My Feet In The Dirt: On a Typical Tuesday Morning

On a typical Tuesday morning  the local commuter bus that stops in front of the Suttel Apartments is always late.

As it pulls away from the curb,  the stop lights at the intersection that it is headed for start to flash wildly from green to yellow to red and then they shut off.

From inside the bus a man rushes up the aisle to the front,  kicks the door open, runs out to the street looks up and says, ” I’m dead, I’m dead. Somebody wake me up I’m dead. ”

On a typical Tuesday morning  the woman in H201 on the third floor of the Suttel decides that today is the day and she goes out to her balcony, swings her leg over the railing and pushes her self off to the street below.

On a typical Tuesday morning a little blue car with it’s bumper held in place by duct tape tries to out run a Fire Engine with a screaming siren and fails. It jumps the curb and hits a green  and white trash can sending  bags of fast food wrappers, beer bottles, and coffee cups into the street and across the sidewalk.

Among the half eaten burgers and bags of chips  that are littering the street,  perched against the curb,  there is a severed human hand in a freezer bag with last years date written in blue sharpie across the front.

It stands on it’s stump for a few seconds before it slowly falls palm side down.

Above the street at the Suttel, a woman named Betty watches the excitement on the street below from her kitchen window and when she’s done she steps back closes the curtains and takes her seat at her kitchen table and pours herself some tea.

She adds a little sugar and as she stirs her warm- no longer hot tea, she decides that today is probably not a good day to clean out the rest of her freezer.

That’s a typical Tuesday at the Suttel Apartments where on Tuesdays  time hits the ground in front of it like a lightning bolt.

In most cases when lightning hits the ground it leaves nothing behind but a little scorched earth. However, anything that was there before is gone now and all that’s left is a mark, that with time will fade away.

In time maybe that’s what will happen at the Suttel, maybe one day that  Typical Tuesday will get dimmer and dimmer until it disappears all together from memories, calanders and clocks.

Unless of course that bolt of time hits on Saturday five years ago or on Friday  six years from now.

It might sound confusing, but in this part of the Universe that failed on the day it was created-

it’s typical.

 

 

The New House

Photo by Curtis Adams on Pexels.com

The house was brand new.

It  rooms were  full of bright light from the uncovered windows,  it’s hallway walls were covered with beige and green striped wall paper that still smelled a little minty from the past on it’s backside and the wall to wall carpet  still crackled a little when you walked across the floors.

The new House was surrounded outside by freshly planted full grown  trees and it’s lawn had only arrived from the garden center almost a month ago.

Today the House was as eager and ready as a bride walking down the aisle to her groom on her wedding day.

Truthfully, if the House had feet, it would be honest to say they were a tiny bit cold, but not much.

To pass the time and soothe it’s nerves, with the help of a little talking black box on it’s kitchen counter, the House clicked it’s own lights off and on, it opened and closed it’s own windows and  it ran the faucets in the bathrooms. It also played some music over it’s sound system, but it switched from one station to another without really hearing a note coming over it’s speakers.

Had the House been built with a pair of hands, it would be chewing it’s nails because today was a day of firsts.

Today the house would receive it’s first family, it’s first dog. A key would actually work it’s lock and the door would swing open and the house would have a family that would call it, ‘home.’

And then it happened.

Just before nine o’clock the House heard a car pull up, it’s garage door hummed and then swooshed up into place.

The front door opened and the house’s very first family walked through the door.

Gus was the Dad, Lindsey the Lady of the House, her 10 year old daughter Camille and Gus’s 15 year old son Buck.

They were a little dusty, a little rumpled  and the House wasn’t sure it liked them, nonetheless they were here and ready to make the House live.

From that point on, the inside of the house buzzed with voices and it’s walls echoed footsteps and the air filled with real smells that real people make – fast food, coffee and body spray.

Furniture and boxes sprouted up in the rooms, the dog peed on a few potted plants and wondered outside and sat under one of the  trees and then it curled up and fell asleep.

The House was taking in each of these  firsts when the Lady was heading up the stairs with a painting in her hands.

Lindsey was upset because someone in her family had hung it in the living room. She had insisted it be hung in the hallway near the loft because it ‘spoke’ the clearest from that spot.

The House was surprised. It hadn’t heard the painting say a thing, but today was a first so maybe it had said something and the house had missed it. Besides when Lindsey had started in about the painting, the House was holding a closet door shut- it was just a game it had decided to play with Buck.

New houses like to play tricks like ‘sticking doors’ and ‘wobbly towel rack’ so it was a little distracted when it did hear something.

The House heard thudding and crashing and crunching- it  hadn’t heard a racket like that since the day it’s roof was put up.

Curious, the House let it’s closet door swing open and it turned it’s attention to the bottom of the stairs where the  Lady of the House was tangled up with her painting still clutched in one hand.

Her neck bent at an unhealthy angle gave the impression she was scowling into her family’s stunned faces.

The house shivered to it’s foundation- today was a day of firsts.

It’s first family had moved in, it’s rooms were being furnished for the first time and there were curtains being hung in it’s windows for the first time.

And now the House was about to get it’s first ghost.

Photographer – Brooke DiDonato

Inspired by: MLMM Photo Challenge #335