In honor of Delores at thefeatherednest and her wit, her perspective, her way of thinking.

I have heard darkness described as mysterious, inky, like velvet...but the darkness in the old Davis mansion, with the last Davis reposing in his coffin across town in the Gentle Rest Funeral Home, was, simply put, horrifying.  I would have as soon sat at the side of old Mr. Davis’ coffin all night than stay in this hideous old mausoleum.  Yet, here I must stay, all the long, black, dismal night.  What’s worse, I have to stay here,  ALONE.

I continue this prompt:

Matilda twisted the dust rag, glancing at the dark corners and the shadowed ceiling.  How had she been chosen to keep the lights on in this old rotting mansion?  To keep away the greedy townspeople who had hated the Davis legacy with a deep born loathing?

‘Oh, well’ she sighed.  She dragged another bag of silver and baubles to put in the back of her van parked in the back of the kitchen.  The paintings were secured, the carved statues next to them, and now the silver. 

‘Maybe one more bag…the library had a nice collection of first edition Jane Austen and Charles Dickens…