Passage

PASSAGE

The six-foot Blue Spruce tree leaned against the wall, ignored by garage sale enthusiasts in Midwestern Pennsylvania, where real trees took preference.
"Buy it Mom," Nicole begged. "Please!"
"Okay, Okay!" Unable to resist her impetuous teenager, Annie agreed. "But you're lugging it to the car."
Decorated with homemade ornaments, the tree dominated a corner of their old farmhouse.
It was so regal they kept it, bare, between holidays. It calmed them somehow, eased the pain and loss of Nicole's father.
Ghostly apparitions shared their home, some benevelant, some not. The most haunting events emanated from the attic. Nicole and her Mom gathered Christmas decorations stored there the following year. This time when the attic door slammed shut, forcing it open was futile. Panicked, they ran to the window.
The scene outside depicted another century. Wagons replaced cars, farms flourished where modern homes once stood. The door swung open. They ventured to an unfamiliar downstairs, the ambience from a bygone era.
In the corner of the room stood a live Blue Spruce tree decorated with homemade ornaments. Nicole grabbed her mother's hand and whispered.
"Mom, I think maybe we found our real home."
Annie nodded.
Her husband held out his arms to embrace them.

Micki

203 wds

another 200 wd story