The Power of Imagination

The path wound down the fields and meandered through the shrubbery that was home to squirrels, nibbling through the trees, eagerly searching for food. At the bottom of the concrete path, covered with twigs and leaves, there lay a desolated house. As I approached the red-brick building, what was left of it, my hands shivered with fear. Is this what Grandma had told me about? Was this the house that had taken her husbands life?

The windowless, one floor house, was home to various awkward sounds and noises, neither of them recognisable by my innocent ears, that had heard nothing except the sweetness of nature and birds and the sound of my own Grandma. Speaking of Grandma, she was so far away, on the other side of the fields, through the shrubbery, when the sound crashed through the roof of the house, leaving a void in the shape of a circle.

Quickly, I turned around, unaware of what had caused the tiling to collapse. I looked inside through the window, because I was never going to enter the house, not by myself, and saw nothing except brown leaves and a couple of mice trawling their way through the remains of a body on the dining table.

How did I not notice this the first time? How had this ugly creature escaped my gaze?

Suddenly, a shriek encompassed the whole building: cutlery rattled in the kitchen; the trees in the garden whistled against the overpowering wind; the skeleton rose and ordered me to run away.

Heeding the freaky creature, I ran, without looking back, without thinking of where I was going. The mysterious house behind me shook, the windowless panes rattled, the roof tiles crashed and smashed.

I looked back: there was nothing left.

The path wound down the fields and meandered through the shrubbery that was home to squirrels, nibbling through the trees, eagerly searching for food. At the bottom of the concrete path, covered with twigs and leaves, there was nothing, everything had vanished.

It was all a figment of my imagination. I settled into a walk, admiring the flowers alongside the path, brushing against my skirt and sandals. There was no house, there was no Grandma,  it was me – only me.

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