Contributor: Krystina Balogh
- -
The old Victorian house loomed ahead, its windows a dark reflection of the pending autumn storm. Sasha pulled her thin jacket closed and quickened her pace. She didn’t like the house. It was eerie with its unkempt garden and peeling trim.
“Can you help me, please? Excuse me? Can you help me?”
Surprised, Sasha looked around and saw the little girl standing on the porch steps, her dress straight out of the 19th century.
That’s odd, she thought. I didn’t think anyone lived here. I guess someone finally bought the old place.
“Excuse me,” the little girl said once more, coming down the steps towards Sasha. “Please, I need help.”
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sasha asked, rubbing her hands together to keep warm in the chill air. She should have worn her heavier jacket.
“It’s my father,” the little girl said....
2 Comments
Author:
Krystina Balogh
