Prompt: In the light of the day, the house wasn't as bad as it was in the dead on the night.
D-L's Free Write
In the light of the day, the house wasn't as bad as it was in the dead on the night.
Marina hated that house.
Why, why, why had she married Tom. She knew he loved the house and would never want to leave it
It was built in 1790 by one crazy man who had fought in the American Revolution. The bullet from some Lobsterback was still in his brain.
Maybe that was why nothing was even: floors sloped and if they wanted to replace a window, the glass would have to be custom cut and was not even into a rectangle.
During the day light filtered in if, if, if it was sunny. During a snow or rain storm it was dark.
Sometimes, she felt the house was haunted. She had researched who had lived there.
In 1817 a man had killed his wife in the kitchen. In 1872 everyone had died to the flu, but there was no pandemic that year.
Tom was in New York on business. It was the first time Marina had been in the house alone.
Taking her camera she started taking photographs. Maybe, maybe, maybe if she redeocrated, she wouldn't hate it so.
The photos showed the rooms with all their faults. Some were unclear, a smoky image on the left side of many of the pictures.
It was an old camera. Or was it the camera?
The house creeked.
If this was a movie, and she was the heroine, she would investigate.
Instead, she put on her coat and grabbed her car keys.
Maybe her friend Marge would let her stay the night...or longer.
Rick's Free Write
“In the light of the day the house wasn’t as bad as it was in the dead of the night…”
The rain was coming harder now. A torrent. It always sounded louder than it was as it struck the expanse of Lexan above the dining area.
Sometimes, when it was not raining, there’d be a loud ‘thud’ on the Lexan, usually a cat jumping down from the rail of the patio above. But the cat hadn’t come lately, spooked by the construction at the house next door, which had been his route to scale the grapevine up to the patio.
The rain suddenly intensified. No, that was hail. I lay in bed, hoping the stones were not large enough to crack the Lexan and cause a leak. Or worse, break the sheet and flood the apartment. That would be dangerous with all the electrical wires laying around the floor. I probably couldn’t even leave the bed in such conditions.
The dog started barking. Probably at the hail. Surely there were no dogs outside in this weather.
“Stop! No!” I yelled at him, and he reluctantly tunneled under the duvet.
I wondered if this storm would cause the little river to flood, the way it had when it washed 30 cars up on the bank. So the town fathers dug the riverbed deeper, and there’s been a drought ever since.
The hail subsided. But then there was a brilliant flash of lightning, followed quickly by an enormous clap of thunder. Must be right overhead. Not even time to count one thousand and one… Then another crash.
Hail turned to light rain, and I lay there watching the dog’s shadow on the wall, illuminated by the lone street lamp outside the front door. Eventually I must have dozed off.
In the morning sun, as I walked down the narrow street toward the church, I saw a large crowd. The top of the bell tower had fallen.
Julia's Free Write
In the light of the day, the house wasn't as bad as it was in the dead on the night.
They looked and looked – would it do?
They had first seen the property when passing by – they got lost – whilst returning from a friend’s new house around midnight. It was spooky at midnight but obviously abandoned. By daylight it was simply run down but still very much abandoned.
Would it do?
He was a carpenter, she an interior decorator. Low on common friends but with one shared and burning desire.
After that visit they enquired at the local mayor’s office and found out that indeed the last owner had died alone and without inheritors. Decent acreage and the city would make them a good price – anything to not only offload the property but to also improve the neighborhood.
A year later they were finished: what better place and what better use than a home for homeless men. At midnight now the house glows with warmth and the former owner lies peacefully where he fell… at the bottom of the garden.
Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends. Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/
Rick is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices. com
D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at: https://dlnelsonwriter.com
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