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#poetry, dorindaduclos.com, fantasy, Friday Fantasy, Night Owl Poetry, part 4, short story, The Visitor, writing
Years passed, silence surrounded the town, and people went on about their business. The chill in the air indicated an early winter was upon them. The town had not seen a bad season in quite some time. Yes, it snowed, but only enough so the children could enjoy making snowmen and sledding down the hill. The town folk found peace this time of year, for the graveyard that lay nearby would be covered over. The unsightly headstones would be pristine, covered in a white gloss, shimmering against the sunlight. Best of all, Jocelyne’s grave could not be seen, and she would, once again, be forgotten.
Her antics about town were well known, her escapades through houses expected. She no longer posed a threat. She was dead. And in the winter months, when the grounds froze over, she would disappear. No one really knew why, except perhaps Timothy. Something about her grave kept him drawn to her. He was five then, that fateful day he watched her die. His parents didn’t know, he took shelter in the barn, a clear view to the place where Jocelyne Joubert was executed.
to be continued…
Night Owl Poetry - Dorinda Duclos 