A bit of serial fiction in 100 word installments. Here are the other parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. nine and ten.
Miss Dietrich handed over a modern key, shiny and new, much to Adam’s surprise. He expected an old brass skeleton key. She told him to bring it back when he was done, as she couldn’t climb the stairs to the attic —which was really a third floor, not just a crawl space beneath the eaves.
Adam climbed slowly, his nerves unexplainably on edge. Perhaps it was the silent house, save for the creaking floorboards beneath his feet. When finally, he reached the door at the top of the staircase, he paused to listen. And he swore he heard someone crying.
A bit of serial fiction in 100 word installments. Here are the other parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven and eight.
Miss Dietrich dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “It was so long ago…”
Adam asked, “Why do roses remind you of Evangeline?”
She sniffed. “I stayed with an aunt when I began to show… Then I had Evangeline with me for a few months before we got the news about Eddie. Anyway, I used to put a little drop of rose water in the baby’s bath…” She sighed. “Such a lovely scent.”
“And the song I keep hearing?”
“‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart.’ I used to sing her to sleep.” She got a faraway look. “Maybe she’s come home.”
A bit of serial fiction in 100 word installments. Here are the other parts: one, two, three, four, five and six.
“Why Adam! How good to see you!” Miss Dietrich exclaimed. “Come in, won’t you?”
“Ma’am, I was worried about you,” he said as he followed her into the parlor.
“Why, whatever for?”
He explained about his recent experiences and Martina’s unwillingness to let him speak to her.
The elderly lady chuckled. “My overprotective watchdog, that one… I’ll tell her you’re alright.”
“Ma’am? Do you know what’s going on?”
Her smile faded. “Music, you say? And roses?” She looked off into the middle distance. “Reminds me of Evangeline.”
“Who is Evangeline?”
She lifted a trembling hand to her lips. “My daughter.”