Wednesday 2 December 2020

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 177

This week's photo was taken by Walter Arnold an American fine art photographer. He has a wealth of incredible pictures, worth a look if you need inspiration. 

This particular photo is from a selection he did called The Art of Abandonment, all taken in this incredible abandoned house called The Mason's Castle, or what was Craig-E-Clair Lodge in the late 1800s, and then remodelled into Dundas Castle in 1921, but Dundas died before it was completed. It passed through hands into that of the Masons (as in masonic), and has never been restored. It is in Roscoe New York and you can find more about it HERE.

This is when I wish I had millions and could buy it off them and give it the love it so desperately needs! 

After having posted about Tricky the last three weeks, I have written something new, and a little spooky. I hope you enjoy it.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there


Peter hid in the corner of the room wondering if it was over yet. He hoped it was, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d run all the way up to the top of the house and into rooms he’d never seen before. They were empty and the paint was peeling, but there was something magical about them.

He sat fantasising about living up here; his own little world, away from everyone, the angry adults and all the shouting. He imagined friends and adventures and even how he would decorate it.

He got up and acted it out, playing kings and queens, and sword fights about who could enter his domain. He imagined doors that led to faraway places over oceans.

When the light started to fade, Peter wondered if it was safe to return downstairs. He opened the door a crack and listened. Nothing. All was quiet.

He tiptoed down the stairs to his room, but when he got there, all the furnishings were different. His small bed was now a huge double and his cars wallpaper had been replaced with some fancy lilac stuff. There was a dressing table and mirrored wardrobes.

He wondered if he’d gone down the wrong stairs and come out in a different part of the house, one he hadn’t seen before – it was so big, with so many rooms. He kept to his part, his bedroom and bathroom, and downstairs where the kitchen and lounge were. They didn’t really let him venture further. For some reason his dad didn’t want him exploring. He wasn’t sure why.

There were lots of bottles on the dresser and he took a closer look, opening each one and having a sniff. After a while he felt woozy and took a step back. That was when he saw movement in the mirror. When he looked he let out a short scream.

In the reflection he saw a lady standing behind the door watching him. She was dressed in a floaty, glistening dressing gown and fluffy slippers, in a mauve that matched the walls, and her hair stuck out all over her head like she’d had a nasty fright. Her eyes were painted with what looked like black rings round them, and were wide and staring at Peter. He was terrified. He didn’t want to turn round, but he had to if he wanted to leave the room.

He slowly turned. She was still there.

‘Hello,’ he said in a small voice.

She blinked. ‘Hello,’ she replied in a croaky voice.

‘Who are you?’

The woman laughed, a husky, chesty sound, which led into a cough.

‘I’m your grandmother.’

‘Oh.’ Peter’s eyes widened. ‘How come I haven’t met you before?’

‘You’re father thinks I’m crazy.’

‘Are you?’ he asked tentatively.

She laughed again, more gently this time and moved to the bed and sat on the side of it. ‘Maybe a little.’

She patted the bed and he cautiously walked over and perched on the corner.

‘You don’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. In fact I’m overjoyed to finally meet you. It’s John, isn’t it?’

‘No, I’m Peter. John’s all grown up and left home.’

‘Oh, okay. I’m sorry, I lose track of time being shut up here.’

‘I’ve not been up here before. Dad won’t let me.’ Peter suddenly realised why. ‘Oh, because you’re up here!’

‘Yes, probably.’

‘That’s silly of him.’

‘Yes, it is. And a little mean.’

‘Why is he like that?’

‘Because he thinks I was mean to him when he was your age.’

‘Were you?’

She sighed. ‘Maybe. I don’t really remember anymore.’

Peter heard someone calling his name. He looked round, fear in his eyes. ‘That’s dad, I’d better go before he finds me here otherwise he will be angry.’

‘I’m sorry he’s like that.’

‘I’ll come and visit you again, I promise.’

‘I’d like that.’

He rushed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, and ran to the closest stairs, which led back to the empty attic rooms. He ran the length of the corridor up there and found another staircase down the other side, and returned to his bedroom moments before his dad walked in.

‘It’s dinner time. Come down and eat.’


They went down the stairs together.

‘Dad, why don’t you visit your mum anymore?’

‘What? Don’t be silly!’

‘I’m not being silly; she’d love to see you.’                

His dad frowned at him. ‘What are you talking about, my mum died eight years ago, before you were born.’