Flash fiction – the house

The house watched him. It hates me; it loves me, he thought, and on the heels of that, something much worse. It remembers me.

I can deal with it. It will not beat me. It was in control of him once, that awful presence, but he was a grown man now. He had built his own business over the ruins of competitors and he would destroy this monstrosity. If only his mother had not stayed there. But then, the house had not really seemed to hate anyone else in the family but him. Well now he owned it. He could sell it and it would become someone else’s problem, but he wanted to tear it down, brick by brick. To do it himself would be most cathartic, but that was not practical. However, he would do at least some of the work; smash some windows and wield a sledgehammer on some internal walls. But he would pay professionals to do the major part of the work. Raise the monster to the ground then dig up its foundations. He would leave it alone afterwards. There was no financial need for him to build on the site. He didn’t need to sell it. That would teach it, whatever it was. He would finally be free of its influence. He picked up a brick and threw it through the nearest window. ‘There, that’s for starters,’ he said aloud.

He got back in his car and drove away. When he got home to his mansion, he unlocked the front door. He entered but stopped just inside. Strange. The house feels different. Not welcoming. He had a strong urge to turn and run away.

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