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#poetry, #shortstory, dorindaduclos.com, garden, house, Night Owl Poetry, poems, transition, witch, WritePhoto, writing, writing prompt
I stand in the courtyard of my mother’s gardens. Always well-manicured, I was never allowed to play in them, but I spent many of my childhood days reading, and just thinking. Being surrounded by lush green grass, and the occasional flower tends to let one’s mind wander to places it should not.
My old home is in ruin now. Time has not allowed a kind transition. Vines have replaced the pristine white facade, and the old oaken door is warped shut. So many memories are held in that small house. How I wish they were all kind ones. I distinctly remember mother telling us we were not to bother old lady Werth. She was the woman who lived directly across from us, her door facing the courtyard, same as ours. It was never open, and we questioned if someone actually lived there. She must have been a hundred years old.
Curiosity got the better of me, one day I decided to knock on her door. The other kids ran to hide, afraid of who or what might answer. But no one did. I knocked again. I was a persistent pain in the butt when it came to getting answers. Sadly, after the fourth time knocking, I gave up. I remember telling my friends, “You big babies, I told you there was nothing to be afraid of! She’s probably long gone by now. She was so old!” They agreed, slowly coming out of their hiding places.
Today, I stand looking at the old house, once again. For laughs, I decide to knock on Werth’s door one more time. I make my way up the steps and upon reaching the dark wooden door, raise my hand to knock. Before I can complete this task, the doors open by themselves. I check, but there is no wind to cause this. Perhaps there is a new family living there, and they saw my approach. However, an eerie sensation comes over me, and I hesitate to go any further.
A frail voice beckons me to come in, and as I do, the dark doors behind me close, with a loud thud. I have made my own transition, no longer in the glory of my mother’s grandest accomplishment, but in the confines of an old house, now prisoner of the old witch who still lives…
Photo via Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt – Transition
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Night Owl Poetry - Dorinda Duclos 