The Cursed Hearth Of Day’s Yore

It was a dark, eerily silent night. on the hearth above my fireplace i hung a cross as this hearth was hunted from day’s yore.

I dressed myself in my night garments, then stumbled to my room, fighting to lift my eyelidsas if they had weights. At my bed, I pulled the blanket back to, access the sheets below. Tucked in, I whirled into a deep slumber. I woke to the booming hearth quarter to three, It called my name and cursed me for my deed. Commanding me to remove it at once or burn burn burn I shall indeed.

I retreated from the comfort of my bed in freight, I stood before the booming hearth. Noted the cross had been turned upside down. Without a reconsideration I fled with fright, in my night garments. Down a flight to the door I had sprinted, swiftly undoing the lock, once the old knob was free I twisted it clockwise. The door came free from the frame it had rested on, swinging into the foyer.

I was free i ran to the far edge of the street. In curiosity of what the cursed hearth would do I turned back to see my measly hobble engulfed in flames. The world became faint — I passed from a coronary — R.I.P

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