‘No, not the Manor’ said young Herbert. ‘It’s scary’.
‘We are supposed to be scary!’ giggled Mary poking him with her witches broomstick.
‘Trick or treat’ the kids yelled hammering on the door. It remained closed. ‘Let’s go’ said Rupert. Then suddenly it flew open.
‘Treat?’ shouted a creepy voice. ‘I’ll give you a treat’. From the gloom, a grey-haired old lady appeared, clutching a handful of sweets. Follow me she chuckled as she led them to her library. A cat purred as it twisted and turned beneath her feet.
‘You want a treat?’ she wailed. The lights flickered then went out. The windows shattered and a thundering organ shook the walls. The curtains billowed as a blast of wind sent books spinning and bouncing off the walls. Then a blinding flash. Forks of electricity hissed and crackled, crisscrossing the room as rivulets of blood streamed down the walls.
The children, nor the old lady were ever seen again.
Most of the villagers believed the story to be nothing more than folk law. But last All Hallows Eve, whilst the locals were supping ale by candlelight, and Albert was delivering his annual re-telling of the tale, the pub door crashed open, the candles blew out and in strolled a grey-haired old lady and a column of sombre-faced children…….
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction which is hosted by Susan Spaulding. Hubby Rick provided the photo.
Thank you for reading my yarn.