haunted

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 The house was set back from the road, and usually, I could only see it during the winter months when the leaves were missing from the trees.

 It was an old white Victorian-style house and there were rumors and gossip of ghosts.  Most recently there had been the murder of an abusive husband, smothered with a pillow by his desperate wife after he had beaten her in a drunken rage.

 But there were other stories as well.  A baby's rattle that would appear out of thin air and tumble down a flight of stairs.  You could hear a baby crying as it went until the rattle hit the bottom stair, then a deathly silence as it would roll across the floor until it disappeared into thin air again. 

 In the beginning, it had been a house filled with laughter.  Family, friends, children.  Holiday parties, dancing, fancy dinners.  But then there was the market crash.  Savings and jobs lost.  Wars with lives lost.  The house began to take on a shabby appearance as it became harder to care for.  Holidays came and went in silence.  Mourning those who were no longer alive. 

 Depression set in on the people and it soon transferred to the house.  Lost souls that lingered between here and there returned in the hopes of finding the joy they had once felt in the house.  But they became trapped, sucked in by the sadness of the living.  

 Soon the house began to attract those who were hiding evil in their hearts, and secret sins.  The rooms filled with the agony of the living, and it was haunted by time and grief.

Participating in Words for Wednesday here at Postcards from the Bookstore.