18 Oct 2019

We Are 138 #50 - Train Times

As soon as I saw the house, I knew. It regarded me. Like a curious call, it beckoned me, with heavy lintelled windows, framing dirty torn lace curtains, behind smeary glass. It tipped it's slate hat, welcoming me.

It wanted me and I was surprised to find, that I wanted it too.

Wrought of heavy blocks of grey soot darkened stone, the house had stood here longer than I had existed. It had been here when the railway cutting, now a lush nature trail, had carried passengers between this and the neighbouring hamlet. Heavy with bodies and produce on market day, I felt sure the cups and saucers on the past occupant"s dresser must have trembled at the passing of each train. The letterbox and latches rattling, as the heavy engines belched and lumbered their way by.


Sarah McMahon is a writer of off-beat creepy short stories. Find her work at https://sjmcmahon.weebly.com/

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