25 January 2009

The Sunday Spook

In the midst of a bustling old city, there was a cozy cottage at the end of a dark and lonely street. It never used to be dark and lonely, as neighbors on either side and down the street once kept it quite busy. But that all changed after Harry died.

Harry was the original owner of this little cottage; he was the first on the street to move in. But it didn’t take long before other houses were built up and occupied by very nice, friendly people. Harry raised his kids here in this house. His wife had died shortly before he moved in; it was said he’d moved in because he needed a fresh start in a new house. He and his children had a very good life in this cozy little cottage at the end of the street.

The children grew up and moved away. Harry remained in his home, content to be in the place that had known so many happy times. In time, Harry took his last breath and passed peacefully in his sleep. The house remained, the children refusing to sell it to others who might not be as kind to this little cottage as their father had been. So it sat where it was built.

Over the next several years, the other homes began to fail. Foundations cracked, roofs caved in. The inhabitants that once were Harry’s neighbors left their homes, never to be seen again. The neighborhoods surrounding this street fought the city hall to have the houses, which had become quite the eyesore, torn down. And torn down they were. One-by-one, the walls came down, leaving slabs of dirt in their wake.

Except for Harry’s house. In the midst of the destruction brought on by aging, abandoned houses, Harry’s home remained intact. The paint looked as fresh and new as the day it had been painted, the roof as sturdy and protective as ever. The windows were glistening and the lawn manicured.

No one understood this, as the house had remained empty since the day they took poor Harry’s failed body away. The kids hadn’t returned to clean it, nor was a single workman ever seen on the property. Yet the house stood proud, surviving the wrecking crews that destroyed its companions.

Life in the area went on. Though once a bustling city, it is now a quiet little town. And on the rare occasion when a stranger visits, the residents make sure to tell the story of the house that refused to die: The cozy little cottage at the end of a dark and lonely street.

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