A little Girl's Thread

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Life is a short thread...

Submitted: April 10, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 10, 2013




The air was cold, and a thick must hung in the air. The building was old and rotting. Vines grew thick along the brick exterior, covering the manor in a thick blanket of green. She was brought here by a woman with large hair. She didn’t understand the words they were saying. The woman, and the old man were calmly talking. She was told to sit in a small chair with dark wooden spindles and golden velvet cushions. On the wall was a large painting of the battle of Waterloo with a brass light hanging above it for display. As her eyes wandered the room, she toyed with the stray strings of fabric on the chair. Paintings, statues, antique furniture, it looked more like a museum rather than a home.

The old man exchanged papers with the woman and she motioned for the little girl to get out of her seat. One of the loose strings caught on the button of her sleeve. It pulled out a long gold string across the floor. Neither of them seemed to notice the trail behind her, so she just did what she was told. As she stood there, motionless, the man and woman talked more and more until the old man slowly rose from his seat like peeling gum off of a shoe. The woman put her arm around the girl’s back and led her in the turtle tracks of the old man.

Of what seemed like hours, they walked through every corridor and banquet hall the mansion held. Everything smelled of the same must and rot. She looked back to check if her thread was still attached. It was, and it was beginning to feel like a game; to see how far the thread would take her. They came to a dark hall lit by candles, it smelled the same, but something was different. It was an eerie feeling she got when she crossed a replica of the Mona Lisa. A wooden door with carvings of mythical creatures and a Coat of Arms was opened by the old man. She was led inside a room with thousands of books and bookshelves. The woman seemed impressed by the grandeur of the library, but the girl was only becoming more and more afraid. There was an old woman sitting in a seat by the grand fireplace. Her cheeks were like an old dog’s jowls. Her eyebrows were overgrown into her grey rats nest. Her eyes were wide and dark. Her nose was a fishing hook and a single wart grew just above the bridge of her nose. The girl looked away in fear. The woman walked closer to her as the old man did. The old man put an arm around the old hag and talked to the woman again.

She felt her golden string pull on her sleeve as the old woman stared deeper into her soul. She wanted to leave. Frantically in search of an exit, the girl ran toward the stairs to the second level of books. But just as she passed the old woman, the string got caught underneath the hag’s dirty shoe. It snapped the thread in two and sent the girl falling on her head. The candles went out. 

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