SLEEPING BEAUTY
When old
Maureen died, her long-absent nephew searched fruitlessly for her rumoured
fortune and departed, cursing.
For years
the cottage slept within its thorn thicket, guarded by savage nettles, while Maureen
waited with the patience of the grave.
Then Clare
saw the mossy roof from the road, fell in love, and bought it. Cheerfully they
scythed the jungle, cleaned the windows, stripped wallpaper, and built a fire. When
smoke belched into Clare’s face she merely laughed and poked a stick up the
chimney to clear it.
Out fell
a tin box.
Maureen’s
ghost smiled with satisfaction – finally, a worthy successor!
................................................................................
I have just returned from visiting my daughter who, with her husband, has bought a cottage in Northern Ireland. They had to chop down man-high undergrowth to reach it, and they've got their work cut out for months to come, but they're loving it. Hence this story, prompted by a different fireplace. Thanks to Shaktiki Sharma for the photo and to Rochelle at https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for hosting Friday Fictioneers.
This is the NI cottage - its owners consider they've already found their treasure.
