‘Rising damp?’
‘I don’t think rising damp works this quickly.’
‘Your skirting board is getting wet.’
‘You should see yours.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Where’s the family?’
‘Out. Didn’t you hear them leave? Such a clutter and shouting, crying. Real drama.’
‘Drama?’
‘Yes, haven’t you worked it out yet?’
‘Hmm. You mean … again?’
‘Yes, again, and she won’t want to see her new carpets wet, muddy stinking.’
‘The stench will be like … like, last time?’
‘Yes. That was horrendous, remember? Sewage and rubbish, mud and debris. Awful.’
‘It did awful things to my plaster, to say nothing of the wallpaper. Took a lot of repair work.’
‘I can already feel the waters in my toes – viscous, cold.’
‘And rising.’
‘Rising damp.’
‘No! How many times do I have to say? Why can’t you face reality?’
‘You’re right, sorry … Pressing hard now. Feel it?’
‘Yes, the strain is killing me … hold on to each other, maybe the four of us can … can … beat it …’
‘Oof!’
‘Hold on, I said, hold …’
‘What was that noise? Where’s that wind come from?’
‘Glass shattering. Your window’s gone and mine’s about to do … the same … Ugh!’
‘Water down my inside! Ruining my wallpaper.’
‘She’ll be so upset.’
‘Water’s pouring through!’
‘Heading your way, all our ways, pushing, pushing … hold on …’
‘I can’t hold it any more …’
‘Rising fast…’
‘Rising damp … ‘ Hysterical laughter. ‘I’m losing it.’
‘Wet, wet, cold, swirling …. here we go … No!’
‘Sailing, sailing …’
‘Whirling, whirling … the darkness … I’ve lost you all …’
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Find Cheryl’s flash fiction and short stories, including audio versions of some, here!
A CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE WALLS OF A HOUSE
It sounded very strange to Sarah. If she listened carefully, she could swear there was a conversation going on between the walls of the house.
What on earth could they be talking about, she wondered. Walls don’t talk – they are made of brick, or stone, or plaster and timber – not exactly the stuff that would generate conversation.
Humans have conversations, and maybe birds and animals in their own language. Materials have no language, therefore, no conversation.
Still the whispering words of this house were unmistakeable, though difficult to understand. Could it be that ghosts inhabited the dwelling and were busy conversing – albeit very quietly.
This wasn’t the first time she had heard the whisperings. Finally, after several occurrences, Sarah managed to borrow a ghost detection meter from a friend who was into paranormal happenings.
When plugged in and switched on, the ghost meter dial hadn’t moved – yet the whispering conversations persisted.
Gotta be the walls then – right? Sarah bent her ear to the nearest one, which happened to be the dining room where she was standing.
“What is to become of us when the moon is full?” she could just make out the faint words. “Will our paint peel off or will we be split down the middle?”
None of these questions made any sense to Sarah. What could it possibly mean?
The full moon was scheduled for that evening but it wasn’t capable of peeling off paint or splitting walls. Surely not?
Sarah was still standing, ear pinned to the wall, when a loud noise startled her. Looking up she saw the jaws of a giant excavator descending rapidly towards here.
Managing to swiftly move out of the way, Sarah saw the wall near where she had been standing splinter down the middle, sending painted debris flying in all directions.
Good grief, she cried. How in all that was sacred could inanimate walls see into the future like this.
Certainly a puzzle for the ages and something for Sarah to tell her children and grandchildren.
Hope it wasn’t her house!!
She grew up there as a child and was making a few nostalgic visits as it was now empty. No one living there. Obviously, she didn’t know it was earmarked for demolition. At least, that’s how I would have progressed the story. LOL
That would work.
Drowning in laughter are they?😂
I don’t think they thought it was funny!!