The lamp dims ever so slightly and the floor rocks gently as a breeze blows through the room. Grandfather has always said there was something unsettling about the house but I refused to believe it. There’s no such thing as ghosts and spirits, just myths people created to comfort themselves. I return to writing in my journal but my train of thought has already been disrupted. Where is Catherine anyway? She’s been gone for ages. This house is big but not that big. I better go check on her.
Gripping tight to the handles of the lamp, I stroll the cold and dark corridors to the kitchen where I find the maid, Mrs. Hapsworth sitting by the fire, warming up with tea and a book. “Mrs. Hapsworth,” I ask, “have you seen my sister Catherine?”
“No dear,” she answer. I smile but as I’m about to exit the kitchen, I hear a scream.
“Catherine,” I gasp and immediately run toward the sound. It’s coming from the library. I rush into the room shouting, “Catherine” but she’s nowhere to be seen. “Catherine,” I call again, “where are you?!” I begin to look around and there it is, lying on the table, its edges glimmering in the light and the corner of the folded yellowed parchment sticking out of its torn lining is the book, “The Royal Path of Life.”
This is a response for Roger Shipp’s new flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. We are given the beginning of the sentence and we are to finish the story. I’m sure my word count’s probably over again but I have no idea by how much. Hey, I managed to work the sentence into the story though.