There was a freckle of lichen upon the haunted house, as if it had become a visual form of sea-inspired poetry. There it nested in fine heather with the grandest of ocean views. Yet there came the day when a knock at the door, a surprise knock at the door, changed everything. For now there was the chance to become a real home again, to bid farewell to the spirits that had been its spectral company.
The haunted building shielded its windows for its instincts spoke of how true light would hold out the divine hand of welcome to its ghosts and give them safe passage to the other realm.
The haunted building put on quite the "song and dance" for anyone who wished to rescue it from its lonely stance. Though it thought itself the bold lone fighter of those parts, the master of solitude, its bark and bite were in truth fuelled by a deep fear of loss. For this house has once loved so deeply those it sheltered within, their loss had wounded it so much, that it kept them as ghostly company. It kept them as if it could hug their memories, as if these wisps of almost nothing could ever be enough, or replace the sound of real laughter, the touch of bare souls, the aroma of homemade meals.
Upon the haunted building, in buoyant light reflective curls, waved the old roof tiles. And to the perceptive eye they told tales of the storms that echoed within their keep, not as warning yet more as an advertisement for the right celestial doctor to come.
The haunted house would be the finest of homes should a real angel come to its doors, for the angel counsels the ghosts to pass on, opens windows and doors. She brings in flowers and plants them into a vase of glass, pouring in fresh waters and singing as she does. And so the house had waited these long years built of seasons, months and days, for the sound of angel feel upon the country lanes.
Into the blessed wisps of grey the haunted house did rise, commanding its ghosts to sleep a thousand years within its walls.
The ghosts had once been the protectors of the building upon the hill, the of russet browns and golds in its rocky walls. For as seasons came and passed, inviting its windows to shine, doors to let in the fragrant air or to simply hear the birds that sang upon roof beams... it had been so comatose. Yet as this spring ignited, as the petals blazed in mirths of grass, a new thing did occur.
The haunted building had formed a sort of orchestra with its ghosts, for come the black heavens and boisterous wind they were the finest of company.
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