lapetiteauteur

[lapetiteauteur]

Is the Tolkien fandom dead?

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[lapetiteauteur]

#1 WRITING PROMPT

If you click on “keep reading” you will read the best I could do with @wordsnstuff ‘s writing prompt.

You recently inherited the house of your 98 year old grandfather. He had lived in this house since he was a child. Then one day a postman drops off a letter that your grandfather sent in 1941. This is what it says.

You will be able to see that it’s just inspired by wordsnstuff’s post and does not respect it entirely. Initially I wanted it to take a fantasy turn... but somewhere in the writing process I made it into what you’ll see.

Please have mercy and criticize politely.

People use to say that a great deal of luck befalls the one who suddenly inherits a fortune; they even tend to become envious and obnoxious about said fortune and the quantity of it. Some even obsessed, to the point they can’t seem to leave you alone with you thoughts.

The bigger the fortune the bigger the luck! One should think the ones who inherit the fortune should play at the lottery so they might win more and more.

Do you care about my opinion, in quality of the heir of a great fortune? Or is it enough for you to know that I inherited my grandfather’s 1941 mansion? Well, I am going to tell my thoughts on it anyway.

By inheriting a mansion, or any other object – be it big or small -, you do not only inherit the object itself, but the luck the owner had in or with said property. If it’s for that, I can tell you my grandpa had so much bad luck that he could donate to the ones who longed for his possession.

Putting aside the bleached and unhinged entry door, the broken windows and window panes, the peeled off and musky walls, the stench of garbage teenagers use to throw into abandoned places and the cracked wood of every couch, armchair and table, my bad luck concerned an unpronounceable amount of money I had to pay.

But if my only concerns were the earthly ones, I would have been more than happy with my fate and wouldn’t have written to you. I fear, alas, that a greater evil fell upon my shoulders and it weights on me more than the sky on Atlas. I will not tell you what you might already know, so I will try and avoid any unnecessary reference to ghosts and other such entities from the Afterworld.

Yesterday, while I was waiting my turn to speak at the local Bank’s info checkpoint, a postman standing right behind me tapped me on my shoulder and without a word handed me the letter I am sending to you together with this one.

I was tempted not to pay any attention to the letter coming from my grandpa, being more concerned with the matter at hand, but the moment I read the date on the envelope I sprinted out of the bank, forgetting even my groceries! My grandfather has sent me a letter from 1941, calling me by my name. Which, in case no one observed would be quite impossible given the fact that my father was born way after that date. At first I thought he might have sent it to seomeone who shared my name and his timeline, but the more I dug into what he had written the more I convinved myself that he was in possession of not only a great fortune but also of great superpowers.

I quote:

Dear and most loved Veronica,

I, the grandfather you have never had the chance to meet and know because of a series of unfortunate events, hope that you will receive this letter I sent you in the year 2018. I know it might sound very strange

I decided to make a few cuts into the content of the letter, skipping the 1940s courtesies that not you nor I have the time and will to read anymore

I hope with all my heart that you DO NOT come into the possession of the house I own for it is surrounded by great horrors that your pure heart should never get to know. It suffices for me to say that soon enough the War will become even more bloody and immense crimes will be committed within these very walls. Blood will soak every rug and pillow, smoke will burn every wall and wood, stones will shatter very window and picture and the only thing that will be standing up to your day will be the Commander’s portrait.

At this stage of reading, I swear I heard a muffled cry in the night and the lamp resting on my table moved a few inches, although I swear to God I haven’t touched it. I was being spooked by a letter about World War II. Hilarious.

I am now leaving this damned house” said my grandfather and what followed made the hairs on my arms raise even more, to the point I felt icey chills down my spine.

My sight is getting worse and worse but I can still grasp the future and the past. The spirits of the old are haunting me and punishing me for allowing that future to penetrate this mansion. Lamps are being put out without me or the butlers doing it. While I sleep I hear cries and giggles, touches on both my shoulders and my cheeks, I hear the floor screach under a nonexistent weight. And when I wake up in the morning the whole house is mocking me: pictures look at me tilted upside down, garbage is thrown all over the 3 floors and the walls and curtains are scratched even though I own no cat.

My grandpa keeps going on with the list of shenanigans these entities enjoy doing the night. Apparently they have nothing else to do. Read a newspaper for example?

Anyway… all the lights have just gone out. Thanks to God the battery of the laptop is charged. I called a cleaning company but apprently they left some mice into the house. There is screeching anywhere and it is driving me mad!

I fear my grandfather’s letter might have affected me… I feel a cold wind caress my cheek and bare shoulder. I still don’t believe in all this but maybe, by the time you get this e-mail, you could recite a small prayer for my soul? I am starting to feel fear.

What do you think about my grandpa’s abilities to see through past and future, as he puts it. You knew him quite well, padre.

God… I swear I’ve seen something walk or fly past me on the left wall. And a picture just fell over a cupboard. I have to get out of this house, only if I find the keys.

I found them but I heard someone knock at the door. I checked through the peephole but there was no one. I believe someone got into the house, I hear footsteps, like boots on old wood… and there’s no light at all in this house. I have to get out, I have to find the back door, if there is any.

I hope you get the e-mail in time to say a prayer, father.

Goodbye, your Veronica.

P.S. do no get into this house! Ever!

[lapetiteauteur]

Iconic.

[lapetiteauteur]

Hello everybody!

I’m a little author wanting to do nothing else than post everything I write. I apologize se if my English is sometimes incorrect, but I am doing my best. I really hope you will enjoy my blog and what I write. I accept any criticism.