The Green Man called beyond the door, “Come child, we are waiting.”
Nora was no child. She was old enough to be a grandmother twice over. Ah, but the words sparked deep inside of her and she felt young again. The last time she walked down those stairs was sixty years ago, but Nora would never forget what was beyond the archway. She pulled her hooded cloak from the knob and sunk her feet into heavy boots.
“I’d marry him again,” she muttered, sounding addled to the man in the living room.
Well I’ve never done a blog writing challenge, but this photo had a haunting quality I couldn’t resist. Besides, the past photo prompt responses that Sue Vincent has posted in the past have been utterly delightful. So, why not. Here is the story that came to me from this photo that she provided, called “The Stairway.”
The Green Man called to her beyond the door, “Come child, we are waiting.”
Nora was no child. She was eighty years old, old enough to be a grandmother twice over. Ah, but the words sparked a joy deep inside of her and suddenly she felt young again. The last time she had walked through that door was sixty years ago, but Nora would never forget what was beyond the archway.
Slippers were useless in the snow, but she would keep the dress, yes, she would keep the dress. Nora pulled her hooded cloak down from the knob beside the door and sunk her feet into her heavy boots.
“I’d marry him again,” she muttered, sounding addled to the man in the living room sitting in the rocking chair.
“Nora, you best come and rest your bones beside the fire with me,” he called out, but Nora was already gone.
Hours passed, and the old man beside the fire dozed and woke to the hunger in his belly. He sniffed the air and frowned. “Nora, is dinner ready?”
Silence filled the darkened room, and the man began to worry. He stepped into the front room and saw the kitchen empty. No lights had been turned on. The front door was slightly ajar, and an icy air blew through the crack and sent a shiver up the man’s spine.
“Nora, you out there?” he called through the twilight. A pair of feet had left their trail through the day’s snowfall, and the old man followed their path with his eyes, down the granite steps where they ended in a pool of violet light.
“She always said they would come back for her,” the old man shook his head and closed the door.