he's-a-real-junkie

Ephemeral

I wrote this a few months back for a short story assignment. It’s a bit different since it’s written in third person. Inspired by my lovely friend Colle (here’s her twitter!), who wrote a nice little thread that jump-started this scenario. Enjoy!


She exhaled a strong gust of breath upon the dusty books. The musty granules immediately hit her face and irritated her airways, elements of a sneeze tickling her nose. She removed the books from their perch on the mantle and set them at the bottom of the box. Remnants of life still permeated the old house, but everything was still save the gentle breeze that flowed past the thick curtains.

She wiped grime from an old photo film and held it up to the light. Various guests were depicted surrounding a banquet table illuminated under a brass chandelier, the same one that hung in the room beside her.

“Must be the previous owners,” she muttered, studying the image further.

She recalled the story her friend had told her of the history of the abandoned home: a spun-out tale about a wealthy family whose son had passed and whose soul continues to haunt the mansion. She had only rolled her eyes at the time, because the last thing she wanted to hear while moving in was a bogus ghost story.

She sighed, lifting white sheets from ancient furniture. Who knew how long it would take to appraise everything in the house. She had a long job ahead of her.

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