It Was A Witchy House

It was a witchy house: the low slung roof; that quiet gray paint; those squinting, shuttered windows; and the empty porch rocker that rocked, rocked, rocked, day and night. That old abandoned home, straight across from my not so abandoned home. Abandoned, lonely, and cold. The home that used to belong to my beautiful and graceful grandmother, the home that used to be filled with colors and beautiful flowers, the home that put my life together.

Now that she’s gone my life is a wreck, nothings is the same. Passed, because of old age and I plan to do the same.

I used to go to her house every other day to say I love you and collect treats for the family. She was my favorite person on the face of the earth until she got swept off of it. She was the only person that understood me, the only friend I had and now she’s gone.

We could talk all day and all night, we were the same, we loved each other like best friends. I swear sometimes I see her rocking in her rocker that we would always talk on rain, or shine.

I am now trying to figure out some way to talk to her without dying. I know I can do it, because we have a connection like no other two people in the world. I know that for a fact. I know where she is and I know we will be together on the same rocker one day.

Every day that rocker goes back and forth and I know she can hear my thoughts. Everyday there she is waving and smiling at me on that same rocker.



I picked this first line because it was the line I was most interested in. It was interesting because it sounded suspenseful but it's not. It sounds like a haunted house, but it isn't.


--Nicole Wolf