The Friday Fictioneer Challenge: Write a 100-word story based on the photo.
This Younger Generation
As the front door creaked open, all the ghosts flew to the attic. Nobody had been to the manor in more than a decade.
Marmaduke, the oldest, took command. “Horatio, see who it is.”
“Not dressed like this,” he replied, ashamed of his ragged attire from being run over by a horse-drawn carriage during a thunderstorm.
Celeste sobbed, causing blood to drip from the knife in her back. “Why can’t they just stay away?”
The ghosts huddled in a corner, avoiding Marmaduke’s gaze. If I weren’t already dead, he sighed heavily, this younger generation would be the death of me.