A child's playhouse. Wooden. A birthday gift.
Lovingly crafted and saturated with memories.
Places like this have a certain Pull to them.
The Pull of this toy home was so strong it pulled the young birthday girl into it.
It took them just over a month to find her and when they did there wasn't much left.
What little remained of her was fused with the walls - yes walls.
Plural.
It was as if her tiny body had been stretched over the whole interior.
Spread thinly like butter, it took forensics hours to peel her corpse off the enclosed space.
Clumps of her remained stuck to the walls, sealed permanently to them.
Twice a year, on her birth and death days, she is seen the clearest. All other days she remains
translucent.
Always inside the home crafted so lovingly it became unwilling to let her leave.
Her grave lay partially empty.
Her tomb she shared with many other spirits.
All young girls.
And it draws more in. It needs more.
Its walls now heavily reinforced by their formerly fragile bodies.
It may never collapse.
Home sweet home.
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