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 romance story, flash fiction, short story. new adult fiction romance. love story.

Insurable gloom pervaded my being, my very soul. I knew the old House I was to visit that afternoon was just that. The old House that was in derelict condition had been abounded and neglected for many a year. Still when I got the telegram asking to evaluate the condition of the house I had shivers of ice run down my spine. I had only seen the House once many years ago when I was not yet a teenager. It was next to an old dirt road that ran along side it. Even then I had horrid visions of gruesome Death and horrors only seen in old Vincent Price movies.romantic comedy, romance, teens,

Melancholy filled me with dread. I knew where this feeling originated. I also knew it would gave me Night terrors.

falling in love, flirting. soho teen, sky pony press, teen, clarion books, I had put off visiting this old House for two weeks. I got another urgent telegram urging me to visit the House. To evaluate it’s worth, to determine if it was worth fixing and salvaging, or if it should be leveled to the ground. The prospective client was in a rush to buy up the land surrounding the House. He wanted to turn the large roomy House into a Bed and Breakfast. If the House was not worth repairs he planned to build an almost exact replica, gloominess and all in hopes to attract the curious and even the creepy to this House. swoon reads, bloomsbury spark, albert whitman, watershed books,

That early Morn the Grey Clouds hung depressingly low. The surrounding land and the trees Grey in colour would seem to be in death throes, the barren trees held onto the dew of morn. But soon this would evaporatequirk books, hot key books, clean teen publishing, stone soup,

I drove my small Volkswagen to the edge of the dirt road. This road was now mostly overgrown with weeds and a few straggles of grass that had not been smothered by the early winter conditions that had beset us. I tried to talk myself into returning to my car and getting the Hell out of there.cast of wonders, blue pencil, milking cat,

I park and walk most slowly to the porch that wrapped completely around the entire House. Stepping cautiously onto this porch I could hear the timbers moan with resistance to my lightweight frame. You see I am 5’7’ and my weight is around 9 Stones. For those of us not from Old England, this is a unit of weight. So 9 stones is approximately 126 Pounds. new moon girls, teen ink, young writers project,

I find a door. I secretly hope it is locked with no way to enter. But with a little effort the door groans and the hinges squeak most loudly as if to warn me not to enter. I enter, Heavy torch in hand expecting the House to be gloomy and my sight to need help. I am right the house is in darkness, shadows slide across the room; I am frightened by these shadows until I realize I am the one casting these. the weight, Adroit, school lunch, Levitate

The walls are barren. Cobwebs are the only decoration that adorns them. An occasional Spider flits its way across the walls. The small dim light that shines through the windows must filter through decades of dust and webs. This is the main living room of the house. The floors are covered in dust, but I swear I can see faint Human like footprints in the dust. Maybe a Vagabond or a Nomad has spent a few days in this house to be out of the elements. romeo and juliet, romance, story, flash fiction, short story, new adult fiction,

I debate whether to climb the steep tall staircase to the second and even third level of this house. I slowly ascend these stairs, the wooden stairs once covered in carpet now only slivers of ratty material shift ever so slightly with every step I take. I make it to the second floor and find a huge room to my left. The door is missing so I enter into this room

I assume this was once a grand bedroom. The only thing left of the bed is rusty box springs. I frighten a Mouse, he frightened me more, we both jump a few inches and he scurries through a hole in the wall. I scan the walls and see an antiquated painting. This painting is faded and so dust covered I can barely make out a young beautiful Woman. I assume she was the Wife of the Manor.romance, new yorker, young adult, fiction, juvenile fiction,

I find an old dust mop and with a little effort I hold the dust mop above my head and wipe the dust away. The dust has clogged my nose and throat and I retch. Spittle and dust combine to make an ugly lump on the floor. I was right this is a painting of a Woman; she appears to be about 30 a little older than I expected but with a beauty you only see in fairy tales or unrealistic movies.

I turn to leave this room but I swear I can hear someone whispering ever so lightly, “Please don’t leave me, for you see I am so very lonely.” The whispers seem to be coming from the painting. I turn slowly and aim the Torch towards the beautiful Woman.
My heart is pounding out of my chest. A feeling that I can only describe as evilness has overcome me. Tears are falling from her eyes. She pleads, “Please take me out of here, I have been trapped in this evil house for so long.” I want to run but something is holding me in place as if someone had nailed my shoes to the floor.

It is if I am being pulled reluctantly and cautiously to this painting, but it is well above my short frame. I drag the old rusty box springs over to the painting. I cautiously climb on this. I can just reach the bottom of the painting. I try to loosen it but it holds fast. I put all my effort into this and the next thing I know I lose my balance and fall hard to the floor. The old floorboards give way and I fall onto the first floor.

I’m in a great deal of pain. I know I am bleeding internally. I look up to see this beautiful Woman from the painting standing over

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romance, new yorker, young adult, fiction, juvenile fiction,Once upon a time there was a very lonely girl that had just moved to a new city. She was a small town girl, and was frightened by all of the people and tall buildings. She lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city where the warm wind blew and the soft sun glistened. She would spend many of her idle hours outside by her secret pond behind the blackberry bushes, whispering secrets into the clear, glassy water, or basking in the sun. Sometimes she would make little rafts out of twigs and leaves and float them across the pond, or use the spiny grass and pine needles to sew patterns into leaves. But the girl was lonely. She longed for a friend to play and laugh with, tell secrets to, and do all the things friends did. So every day, she would spend an hour or two making a little twig girl, with extra care, all the while wishing for a friend. Then she would play with it, treat it like a friend. new moon girls, teen ink, young writers project, the weight, Adroit, school lunch, LevitateShe would skip through the flowers, doze in the grass, run alongside the wind, then at the end of the day, she would drop her twig friend into the pond, and wish for a friend. romeo and juliet, romance, story, flash fiction, short story, new adult fiction,

Days passed, months past, and almost 1 year later, the usually hopeful girl was starting to lose hope. the days grew colder and quieter, the cool winter air empty of her laughter. Then, on her birthday, the girl decided to try one more time. She made a beautiful twig girl with a small white heart-shaped dot right in the middle of her forehead, and, with all of her heart, wished for a friend. She wished and wished, and when nothing happened, the girl was heartbroken. stone soup, cast of wonders, blue pencil, milking cat, She cried and cried into the deceitful pond that led her to believe, only to let her down in the end. She bitterly wept until she could no longer take it, and ran into her house. quirk books, hot key books, clean teen publishing,

The next day, the girl, still soaked in misery, went down to the pond. One last time, she talked to it, told it her secrets, and again cried into it. As she sobbed, she heard the sound of her tears hitting the pond getting softer and softer, until they could no longer be heard at all. flirting. soho teen, sky pony press, teen, clarion books, swoon reads, bloomsbury spark, albert whitman, The girl looked up, surprised, and saw a strange shine to the water, as if it was mourning her lack of belief in it. The water rippled, and the hundreds of little twig girls she had made slowly surfaced. The last, most beautiful one didn't come up. The pond spread its sparkling water to either side, making a dry pathway through the middle, where there sat the last beautiful doll. The girl cautiously walked in and picked it up, and the water started swirling around her, gently taking the doll form her delicate hands. The water went cloudy, and when It cleared, there was a girl her age, standing in the water. The child in the water was beautiful, with long, auburn hair, and a a kind, smooth face. As the child stepped out of the water, the girl noticed a small, white scar on the child's forehead, in the shape of a heart. swoon reads, bloomsbury spark, albert whitman, watershed books,

The child held out her welcoming hand, and the girl eagerly grasped it tightly, lacing her fingers around the child's. A strange shimmer in the child's eyes told the girl that she had finally found a friend. romantic comedy, romance, teens, falling in love,