The House that Wouldn’t Let Go (193 Words)
They sincerely tried to escape the house. But when the wheel popped clean off of Grandpa’s carefully maintained car—a car that had outlived countless relatives and was taken care of with all the tenderness of a baby—they knew they weren’t going anywhere.
“Dad’s going to kill me,” said Mr. Hanes gloomily, examining the dislocated wheel.
Mrs. Hanes, in the driver’s seat, offered no comment. Their two kids, Amy and Mike, looked at each other uneasily.
“Grandpa can’t kill you if you’re here,” Amy offered.
“True,” said Mr. Hanes.
“The ghosts aren’t that bad. I mean they’re noisy but—they’re funny and they’re very inclusive,” said Mike. “It’s like being in a club.”
“Inclusive is a big word,” said Mrs. Hanes.
They looked back towards the house. It loomed against the dark evening sky, a gothic manor of turrets and secret rooms. It was meant to be a vacation home, but—
“It has plenty of room,” said Mrs. Hanes. “And, no mortgage. If we’re going to stay, I guess we’ll have to make the best of it. But if that plumbing doesn’t get fixed, someone’s gonna find out what it means to wake the dead.”
Written in response to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner‘s prompt. Check it out!