The House My Father Left Me
Finally, there was some rustling in the bushes. The silence was eerie tonight. It was as thick as the air. Hearing Jo scurry home was comforting. The solidarity of the house was always a little unsettling, but at least the view of the lake and mountains was amazing. This was the true selling point of the house; it was nestled on an almost private lake. There were only four other houses on it, but it was big enough to race some jet skis around on without disturbing them. It was an hour's drive into town and a solid 100minute drive to the nearest neighbor. Even though I preferred the sound pollution of the city, Jo thrived here.
As he approached the first lighting strike lit up the skyline. I had to do a double-take. It looked like there was someone next to the barn. I ran to hit the backyard light switch and peered out the door.
I sat in the kitchen staring out the back door as the barn door swung open in the wind. The heat of summer was thick on this August night. The wind was more of an insult than a relief. It felt like someone was breathing on your face. It seemed that it was even too hot for the bugs to come out. Normally the fireflies would start to come out as the sun went down. But not tonight. As the sun set and the blanket of night covered the sky, clouds lingered in the sky so not even the moon was visible. A storm was clearly coming.
My objective of coming to the summer house for a month was to restore the old barn. My father, rest his soul, kept the house in good condition while he was alive. But the barn was always last on his list. Inheriting the property upon his death, I decided to keep it and rent it out as an AirBNB. The only thing preventing me from posting was that barn that looked like it was 100 years old. Major liability in its current condition. Depending on how this storm goes, tomorrow's plans may be a wash. At least I got all the junk out today.
It was 9:38 when I realized that Jo, my german shepherd, never came in. At this point he has normally gotten hungry enough to return for dinner. He lived the life of a king here. He roamed freely through the day. Lounging under the willow tree or on the poarch, with his own personal doggy door to retreat in the AC when necessary. He preferred to stay outside as much as he could whenever we were here. So it is not out of the ordinary.
“JO,” I called from the window. “Come in you silly dog.”
Silence.
“Jo it's dinner time,” I yelled while clicking his bowl.
Finally there was some rustling in the bushes. The silence was eerie tonight. It was as thick as the air. Hearing Jo scurry home was comforting. The solidarity of the house was always a little unsettling, but at least the view of the lake and mountains was amazing. This was the true selling point of the house; it was nestled on an almost private lake. There were only four other houses on it, but it was big enough to race some jet skis around on without disturbing them. It was an hour drive into town and a solid 10 minute drive to the nearest neighbor. Even though I preferred the sound pollution of the city, Jo thrived here.
As he approached the first lighting strike lit up the sky line. I had to do a double take. It looked like there was someone next to the barn. I ran to hit the back yard light switch and peered out the door…
Continue Reading this story on Vocal
https://vocal.media/horror/the-house-my-father-left-me