Spring House

by Mary Ellen Taylor

All houses are haunted. All persons are haunted. Throngs of spirits follow us everywhere. We are never alone. —Barney Sarecky

Stale air drifted out of Spring House like a tired yawn

The house almost moaned like a sleeping giant, and she sensed it was not the least bit interested in rising. It had been left alone for decades and was content to be forgotten. “Leave me be,” it seemed to whisper.

“Our thoughts,” she often said, “manifest in our lives.”

Promises are like butterflies. Beautiful. Colorful. Easily crushed and broken.

his long legs eating up the ground between them as his coat flapped open.