Flash Fiction: The Knocker

I'm still under a deadline time crunch, so to tide you over, here's a piece of flash fiction I wrote a while back in response to a Ficly challenge to write about a blue house. You can read the original and its sequel (or write a sequel or prequel of your own) here.

THE KNOCKER

A little blue house sits at the end of the lane. It is always freshly painted, and its lawn freshly mowed, though no one can say when these things get done, or by whom. A stone path leads up to the porch. There are windows. There is a chimney of red brick. But there is no door.

No one is ever seen coming or going. At night, there are lights in the windows – strange lights that move and dance and are simply the wrong color. There are sounds, too, but no one who is asked can ever quite describe them.

There is no door, but there is a giant knocker, red like the chimney. No one knows what happens when you knock. No one has done so in this lifetime.

They say the last child brave enough to accept a dare to peek in the windows (or too cowardly to stand up to his peers and say no) was immediately stricken mute, and all of his hair went white. He’s over 60 now, and still doesn’t talk.

That’s what they say. Nobody since has been brave enough to discredit the rumor. But Kendall thought she’d give it a go.