The house

A ghost story

I was back in the house, it was a large detached house, in a cul de sac quiet and relatively modern.

I knew I didn’t live there, but I knocked on the door, I was in the kitchen, and lounge it looked so different, there were soft toys on the stairs,very strange, no children.

The door was shut, it was dark and very cold.

I was sitting in the lounge, I could see the kitchen, but I was not in it, which seemed strange as the kitchen door was shut.

I was with a man I knew as a lover long ago, wearing a striped shirt, he was so tall, we were facing each other around the table, we were talking but there was no sound.

It was dark, but eerie, slightly warm, but cold, there was silence yet we were talking.

The kitchen looked different when I entered, just bland no wooden table, it was empty, the lounge carpet was blue, but that wasn’t right, the colour was wrong and it was thin and damaged.

I was welcome but didn’t want to be

I’m part of the history from hundreds of years ago but didn’t know it, Iv never left the house I am the house, and am living in it, the family here now just don’t know it.

It is the house.