Short Story - “Skeleton Houses”
When I was a kid, I grew up in one of the first houses built in a developing neighborhood. Every Sunday evening, a couple of hours before sunset, my parents and I would go for a bike ride through the culdesacs of construction sites. Sometimes, we’d stop and walk through what I liked to call “skeleton houses” – the wooden frames of future homes. I used to love walking across the plank bridges into the houses and strolling from room to room, wondering what they would look like once the construction was completed and the inhabitants decorated according to their style.
BUT, what if the wooden frame structures weren’t the only skeletons in the construction sites? What if a five-year-old kid stumbled across a macabre scene that would haunt him for the rest of his life?