the messenger

The bricks surrounding the old, run-down house were crumbling apart. The faded red was still bright against the grey shutters and broken front door. No one had gone inside for ages. It had turned into one of those neighborhood ‘haunted’ houses. You know, those ones that the kids always gossip about and adults never talk about.

Something weird happened.

The precinct got a phone call around 3 a.m. All the lights in the abandoned house had suddenly turned on, according to Mrs.Jones. They startled her when she had awoken for her early morning cigarette. Something she’s apparently done since her 20s. She was telling me this as she went on in my ear about smoking for years and never getting cancer.

She paused for a moment, finally giving me an opening. “Ma’am, about these lights…” There’s a light intake of breath as she began to apologize for rambling on.

Then the phone on the other end went dead.

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