Old Mrs. Good

By
If I knew any better I would have stayed away. I should have learned from my older sister’s mistakes. “Fine, but don’t you dare,” My guardian, my older sister, advised after I spoke of going down Palmer Lane to the market. “Go into old Mrs. Good’s place. Take it from me; my life has never been the same.” I just couldn’t believe there could be a place that would stir such emotion into my sister’s selfless soul. After shuffling off and advising her I wouldn’t know her house from the others anyway, I took the road, ignoring my wiser siblings’ warning. But when I reached the end of long Palmer, I was mesmerized at the very sight. It was a very strange scene, indeed, to be seen in such a suburban area. All of the houses looked the same: one bed-room with large yards. Yet, Mrs. Good never ceased to amaze me. There were many broken branches lying strewn across the blades of grass, but all I could see were glowing orbs.

They were balanced on thick dowels, multi-colored and various sized. The whole house was a mystery; and for some reason or another I couldn’t bear myself to just walk away from it. There were odd candlesticks, just occupying the porch looking centuries old. In the very middle of the yard there was a sign, rusted and aged, that read: Psychic Readings.

Could kind old Mrs. Good actually be a physic? Surely not. Not the elderly lady who, when my parents were alive, brought a gift to me on my every birthday. Although, now coming to think of it, she never once mentioned her occupation or where she lived. I just grew up thinking she was a wonderful housewife; a kind friend of my mother’s.

I, now feeling an undeniable force grabbing my attention, led myself up to the ancient terrace. The house, although old and unkempt, was an unmistakable beauty. I rang the doorbell twice feeling quite uneasy as I remembered my sisters’ words: My life has never been the same…





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