A lone candle flickered amber in the dank attic. The old woman finished reading and continued her speaking of harsh foreign words. The pages of her book ruffled; the amber glow guttered. The din of a thousand roaring voices reverberated through the walls. There was one wish, only one, that was to stay forever young. She asked this of the silhouette now standing in the shadows, out of sight and out of light of the lone flickering candle. She fell for the lie, offered her soul; the demon snatched it and slithered away. A lone candle flickered, the dank attic empty.
By M. P Daly