The storm arrived just after dusk.
By midnight, Stormhill House had dramatically locked every upstairs door except one.
Millie stood in the hallway holding the old brass compass Ana kept behind the bar. The needle spun wildly whenever it pointed toward Room Thirteen.
“That’s not a good sign, aye?” she whispered.
The House seemed to perk up around them in deeply inappropriate anticipation.
Then the compass stopped dead, pointing straight at the front door.
Beyond the front door stood a figure cut from rain and shadow.
Ana lit another cigarette and sighed.
“Ah, fuck. It’s decided to let her come home.”
You can read Stormhill House’s first appearance in Depends Who’s Coming.
Written for Day#25 of Halls of Pandemonium writing challenge.
Oi way to stick the landing, and you know what I'm going to say next.....more please.....
The house is gonna mess her up!