The Windmill

My mum grew up here.

It was haunted by the old miller.

Granny told me all about him.

I loved staying here but I always felt aware of there being a presence.

It looks a lot different these days, but not too different if you look at it in the dark through a camera set on the wrong setting.



I can still hear the click of the latch on the split front door and the sound of Grandpa coming down the stairs. I can still taste Granny's macaroni cheese and feel her tuck me into my bed at night. I can hear the dinner gong and the piano and I can still recall the different smell each floor (all five of them) had. I can remember everything like it was yesterday.

Can't remember what I did yesterday though.