---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Aurora” Down in the Dirt, v168 (the Feb. 2020 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Foundations the Down in the Dirt Feb.-April 2020 issues collection book		get the 322 page Feb.-April 2020 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 2020 in a Flash the 2020 flash fiction & art collection anthology		get the 296 page flash fiction & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The House Where Ivy Won

Catherine McAllister

    The Tudor-style house stood in the middle of our block. A lonely property with large oaks dotting the grounds, ones that dropped their colorful autumn leaves on the sidewalk for kids to kick and crunch on the way to school. I remember the stories about the home—more like legends. These were the kind of tales passed down from older brothers and sisters, making scared children cross the street to avoid passing by and brave kids dare each other to ring the doorbell. A house like this wouldn’t be complete without a creaky, wrought-iron gate, and ivy covering its walls, greenery that slowly overtakes the house with its unchecked growth.
    I saw the house every day walking to school and then from my car window as I drove my old beat-up Toyota hatchback to and from high school. As the years passed, the ivy had a mind of its own, an agenda for the recluse inside. By the time I graduated from high school, the old wooden door was almost invisible, no longer competent for its intended use, the vines obliterating any view or possibility of opening. I don’t think anyone really knew the truth about its inhabitants, and the stories only grew larger as time passed.
    After heading off to college, I didn’t think about that house, as I was occupied with lectures and labs, reading and writing. It was a while before I came home again, but on a return trip, I slowed and stopped in front, only to find it was no longer there. The only things left were the remnants of ivy and a few younger oaks. The ivy had finally consumed the entire house, taking its secrets with it.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...