Haunted

The honcho from Indian Police Service was on his official tour, and was allocated this guest house to stay.

It brought back a flood of childhood memories. He had left this village, decades ago. In childhood, he had often wondered if somebody lived in that house. The house was barely visible in spring and summer, when the foliage around was green and lush. Autumn emphasized the starkness of the structure.

The caretaker came in to serve tea. He was dumbstruck on seeing the age-ing, but beautiful face with the same sparkling eyes. He had been haunted by these eyes in his teenage years.

“For how long have you been here?”

“Do you remember the girl who told you ghost stories about this haunted house?”

“Sure, I do. Your eyes still look the same.”

“I had to spread those stories, because my fugitive father had taken shelter here. We did not want people to come close. He died, and I had nowhere to go.”

“I wish you had told me this, at that time. I would have been a lawyer, instead of a police officer.”

(185 words)

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner