Cody House-Sits

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Cody, the brave one, gets a house-sitting job and learns fear.

Cody didn’t like it here. The trees were too close, the roads too rutted, the property too far from any familiar bustle. She hadn’t even set foot in the house yet. She couldn’t bring herself to cross the small front yard, climb those six solid-looking wooden steps, and unlock the massive front door. 

The key was in her pocket. 

She need only take the first step. 

But the house stared at her. 

Ordinarily, Cody didn’t succumb to fear. She prided herself on her rational reactions and cool logic. Even her friend who had sent her the link for the house-sitting job had thought of her first. 

“The ad says ‘not for the faint of heart.’ That’s you to a T. You’re the brave one.” 

It was true that Cody was not easily riled, and it was a simple house-sitting gig. One week. Stocked kitchen. No pool, pets, or plants. Internet and cable. Egyptian cotton sheets. She’d been excited to have a week off. She needed a retreat from the maddening pace of life and responsibility. 

Outwardly, this house was a beautiful example of a turn of the 18th century, monied, farmhouse. Three floors of living space and, one must assume, a cellar. Perhaps an attic. She envisioned a full-service kitchen, grandly appointed dining room, a den, or a library laced with the lingering cigar smoke of the generations this house had seen. Still, the house loomed over her. Perhaps to enter, perchance for always, she thought. The hairs on the back of her next stood up as a third floor (bedroom maybe, she passingly thought) curtain fluttered back into place. A cloud passed over the sun casting her and the house into shadow. A trick of the light, she thought. A house can’t hurt me. She, the brave one, mustered her courage and took the first fateful step. 

Cody never spoke of what happened in that house, unless shouted words during nightmares count as speaking. She never truly spoke again after that week. She’d left her courage and, perhaps more than a little bit of, her humanity in those temporal rooms. 

 


Submitted: March 30, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Claire Abbott. All rights reserved.

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