They wanted me to go in, but I couldn’t. I tried, I really did, but as soon as I reached the stone steps leading up to the front door my whole body froze. I simply couldn’t move.
I could feel the sweat dripping down my face. The smells, the fear had come rushing back. It was as if the years had simple melted away.
I could see the dark wood panelled corridors, the high ceiling. I could hear their soft, demanding whispers, feel their podgy fingers probing.
I realised now why nobody else had come forward to support my story.
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
100-word story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.