This is the photo for last week’s Picture It and Write! hosted by Ermilia Blog! What we’re supposed to do is make up a story or a poem based on the picture that’s provided each week. It’s a pretty sweet chance to be random and let your creativity loose! I prefer to do the stories.
Hi there, I’m Jolie Nolan and if you’re up to it I’ve got a story to share. There was a myth, or what many considered a myth, in my family concerning my father’s younger sister, Eliza. Only the few that were there couldn’t deny the stark truth, save for the one that couldn’t believe it to this day. The others, what they doubted, what they thought was a God awful tale spun by our ancient looking Aunt Maude, was something I knew as a fact, something I’m tied to for as long as I live.
Being the eldest child of the eldest child (my father) I inherited Aunt Maude’s house on Shamus St. and I will tell you – the adventurous reader – the notion of baring this burden in solitude is nowhere near simple, the mere thought of it threatens to drive me insane. It’s up to you weather or not you choose to believe me.
Eliza, along with the other children, was forbidden from entering the last room on the corridor in old Aunt Maude’s pretty home whenever she was there for the holidays. No one for that matter wanted to step foot beyond that door, which was a rather peculiar sight in such a neat and proper house like this one.
Upon turning, the knob creaks with this eery metallic grind and as you can imagine, the hinges did no differently. The lilac patterned wallpaper surrounding the door’s frame were lightly charred, if you’ve ever lit the edges of a page with a lit cigarette before you might have an idea. It’s once caramel brown coat of paint must have beckoned generations of curious souls, one of which was poor Aunt Eliza, thirty five years ago, she was only ten. This was her story ….