The floor began to creak in the early morning. Without failure; the loud tick-tock of the clock displays the same twilight zone time. It was musky, dark, dismal, and cold, despite the windows being closed.
The wood burning stove cinders were red, which indicated there should be heat. She pondered this for a moment, and suddenly sneezed. Wiping her nose on the sleeve of her filthy robe, she noticed a light red dry dark substance. It was of no concern at the moment.
Briskly walking pass the crooked mirror tacked on the dilapidated wall, the old woman had a few logs scattered in the corner. As she bent down to retrieve them, a mouse scurried over her foot. It didn’t startle her at all. Her goal was to get more heat, to sooth her aching bones. She was always cold.
She threw the remaining wood logs on the stove, grabbed an old frayed blanket, and sat on the only piece of furniture, which was a shabby broken chair, now infested with bed bugs. The old woman paid no mind to it in the sparsely furnished room. She was determined to watch the flame burn, until the sunrise.
This became a reoccurring process. Time always seemed to elude her. Eventually she realized that somehow, the bitter chill that rattled her bones had a connection to the creaking in the floor. It wasn’t until tonight, she was eerily aware that the chill was emitting from her. It is her who made the floor-boards creak.
She is a ghost. She is and has been for many years….Dead.
Have a boo-ti-ful dark Thursday!
Vera Robinson © 2016