Question

Writer's block.. please help?

Answer 1

Here is my story: "Now this is a much older house than the ones we looked at last week.", my realtor explained, while pushing a skeleton key into the lock." Of coarse it could use some cleaning...", she added.

The door into the master bedroom creaked, matter of fact the entire house released the sound of grinding boards, and rusty nails. England isn't the sort of environment that I'm used to. Substantially different than, the modern day glass floors that I grew up with back in America. Everything was on one level, which doesn't seem typical for this country as all the homes I had seen so far were built up; not out.

We made our way through the rest of the house, and out to the garden. "Would you like to share your thoughts?", the realtor asked. I was almost hesitant to tell her how much I wanted the house. I remained modest, and simply told her I wasn't happy with the settling noises, of the old aged house, but could see myself living here. Though that was a lie. My family and I have been very blessed with great wealth and could easily buy the property in the blink of an eye. Not to mention I wasn't going to be living here long at all.. It was strictly business. Buy a house and it, for almost twice the price.

The day carried on and I left with the intention of waiting a few days to dial the phone and make the final decision. It was tradition to put the buying process on hold, to set forth the illusion that your aren't one-hundred percent satisfied with everything. Occasionally, and unfortunately leaving the owner to chose another offer.

I noticed the sickening feeling of my empty stomach after bouncing over a speed bump. I stopped in a village pub to grab a bite. Wiping my face, I picked up the paper that lay next to me, only to find out that the same house I had been drooling over yesterday resides in the very village I was sitting in. I immediately got up from my chair. I wanted to see the place again.

The outside looked better than before, or maybe I was so focused on the cash the house would bring me, I didn't pay attention to how beautiful it actually was. I called my realtor and made plans to purchase the property early the next morning.

"Well ma'am, I'm certainly glad you chose to buy this house!", the owner Mr. Thompson declared. "The same goes for me!", I smiled, signing the last document. Since I wasn't planning on staying long, I had no furniture, or practically anything other than my two suit cases and carry-on from the flight to England to move in.

I hadn't wanted to spend the remainder of my day cooped up in a house by myself. So I decided to see what British shopping had to offer. When I got there I hit up some conversations with other shoppers. Being my friendly self, despite the "pretty little rich girl" stereotype that seemed to follow me everywhere, the people there were fairly nice, aside from one older man who told the mall police I was "disrupting his shopping process." The locals made me feel like such a tourist!

I arrived back at my new, short term, home. Pleased with my accumulation of various filled shopping bags. I made myself a quick dinner with the limited amount of food I had at the time. Then jumped in the shower. It felt good to be clean after the little, but many stresses that buying a new house brought.

I walked over to my room to get dressed, searching through my suitcase, I felt a breeze coming at me from behind. When I turned around there stood Mr. Thompson outside my window. I didn't scream, nor did I gasp for air, and within a split second the wind pulled the curtains fluttering in front of the window covering Mr. Thompson... when they settled he was gone. Not a trace was there.

I stumbled into the corner with my back against the wall. My body shook and I eventually trembled to the ground. I tried to "trick" myself into thinking I was hallucinating. When I finally calmed down I finished getting dressed, then hastily went through the entire house closing every window, curtain, and double checking that the doors were locked.