Microfiction: The House With The Small Hamper

Several families, couples, even a few wayward homeless people had stayed in that house, but they all left. They all fled, basically, slowly, yes, moving being what it is—but fled just the same from this house. They noticed the hamper, and tried to remove it, and found that they couldn’t.

And found again and again that they couldn’t. That it was impossible. Knives shoved under, trying to slice whatever stuck it there. Violent feats of kicking and tearing and pulling and yanking to not a single budge.

Even when professionals were called, arcane, religious, or constructional, it didn’t do a thing. It was something else, something unknowable—and humans being what they are, even if it was just a hamper, they could not stay nearby it.

They could not stand to be in the hamper’s presence.

And no one tore down the house, for fear of leaving the hamper open to the air.

Special thanks to: Melissa Potter

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Want to read something longer by me? How about a whole novel! 

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