(Oh bother. I see my “like” button isn’t loading, and my notification bell on this site isn’t working. At least it works on my Bible study site, so I get all the comments on this blog, too. Sorry, I thought I had everything fixed. Such a nuisance!)
“I hate floods!”
“No one loves them, unless there’s been a drought, I suppose.”
“This is just nasty, Dad. Dead snakes in the basement, stinking water halfway up the walls. And all this filthy sea weed gunk! What good is it, anyway?”
“You’re having quite an attitude, Son.” Dad stopped, leaned on his rake, and said, “It could be worse, you know.”
“Yeah? I don’t see how!”
“Well, we could live where the snakes are alive and poisonous. We could have to haul water from a dirty stream. We could have to eat grasshoppers and beetles.”
(You may remember that last week I mentioned my “like” button, along with my notification bell, was not working. I couldn’t “like” any of your stories. I got into an online forum offered by Word Press, and FINALLY, after following many suggestions, someone asked if my third-party cookies setting was disabled. Yes, it was. I had disabled it, because I get sick of clickbait from places in which I have no interest. So I enabled all cookies, and VOILA! “Like” is working. Notification bell is working. If you use Chrome and you’re having similar issues, check your settings for cookies. It was an easy fix, once I knew how to do it.)
And now for my story:
“Oh, now that’s just going too far,” whined Bella. “Garlic in every window, every door? They KNOW they have to invite us in. This is just offensive.”
“Stop whining!” barked Bariel. “We’ll wait. Just make sure you stay in the cover of the woods in case the sun takes us by surprise.”
“I’m staying right here by the door,” insisted Bella. There’s shade from the overhang. I’m going to catch someone by sur—–AAAAGGGgggggghhhh!!”
The holy water hit her full in the face, leaving only dust.
Every now and then the townspeople would see workmen on the property. Fencing repairs, trees trimmed, windows cleaned and changed out for the seasons. The house had been painted every five years.
No one ever sighted an occupant, though. Not once. And oh, how they tried. Binoculars, telescopes, cameras with zoom lenses. They even forced their children to go there on Halloween. The fence would open, the door would crack, a hand would reach out. But no one ever saw anything more. No face. Nothing.
It drove them crazy. Inquiring minds want to know 🙂