PROMPTS: A collection of Short stories

The Poltergeist Girl v1

THE OLD wooden steps creaked under my weight as I climbed up the porch. I glanced at it unsurely.

"It gets a little squeaky sometimes but don't bother about it." Stella said quickly with an overly bright smile I had to squint against.

I roamed my eyes over the dirty yellow décor and felt instant irritation sip into my mood.

"About the painting, we can easily get that fixed."

"Right," I mumbled.

I surveyed the sturdy but old wood panel floors, the grandmother rocking chair by the wall, the potty plants that were bowing in surrender to their death and the formerly white picnic table.

"Don't worry about here. Anything you dislike can be easily replaced. Let's go in." Stella rushed past me, in a wave of acrylic perfume and pushed the oak door open. It yawned loudly in protest.

"Can you imagine this?" Stella laughed excitedly, holding her arms out and twirling round. I stepped in hesitantly.

The sitting room was an old 1960 English décor of oak wood and beige decorations. There was an old hearth, a mantelpiece, old cushions, an elevated surface with a dining table for four, an expensive Egyptian rug, a glass coffee table, a red flower holder, a coat hanger, a deer skin nailed to the top right corner, and a hung scroll of the Lord's Prayer.

"Wow." I stuttered unconsciously.

"Right? Its crazy. Its like a complete retro throwback in here." Stella chuckled, arms akimbo, looking around. "Really crazy."

I moved around the sitting room, feeling the dusty cushions which surprisingly was still in good condition, the thick paperbacks right under the coffee table.

"Feel free to examine even the rat's poop. I'd be around." Stella said hurriedly and wandered off like she was the buyer. I resisted an eyeroll and carried on.

There was a lone socket by the wall with an empty telephone seat. My gut told me it was around somewhere. Where would I hide the telephone if I was my mother? A sad smile slithered across my face as I got on my knees and peered under the couch. Reaching under it, I pulled a shiny black telephone along with rat dropping and dust mites.

"Seems like some things never change with time." I said, the sad smile still plastered on my face in nostalgia.

Rising up, a framed photograph on the mantelpiece caught my attention and I moved towards it, lifting it carefully and peering into the blurry capture.

It was a black and white photo of a little girl in pigtails and overalls clutching a man's hand while staring blankly into the camera. The man had a hat on that blocked a better part of his face with the extension of a smoke pipe. He was dressed in a suit with a hand in the pocket and the other hand pressing the child's head to his lap rather fiercely.

I was ready to drop it back but something pulled me to the little girl's expression. Was it of relief? Fear? Indifference? Her eyes were blank and her lips hidden beneath her chubby cheeks in a straight line.

Her eyes. They were trying to say something. I stared harder. Suddenly, she looked at me with deep melancholy, her lips twisted in a sad childish pout, her eyes misted over and a tear fell. Her chubby hand rose and wiped the tear bedgrugingly.

"What in the..."

The strange girl stared at me, then opened her mouth wider than humanly possible and a black shadow swirled and exploded out of her mouth and into my face.

I jerked back in alarm, the photograph slipping from my fingers and crashing into the hard wood with a loud ring.

Footsteps echoed and Stella reappeared.