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As a cool autumn breeze sweeps the dried, crispy leaves across my path, that day becomes so vivid again.
Member rating: No Rating | Words: | Submitted: Thu Jul 11 2002
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As a cool autumn breeze sweeps the dried, crispy leaves across my path, that day becomes so vivid again. It was long ago. We were about twelve then. Bumpy and I were inseparable. Friends to the end, we'd always say. Bumpy's real name was Kevin, a big, ruddy faced Irish kid, who'd earned the nickname with his nervous habit of repeatedly bumping into you as he stood and talked. Nevertheless, he was a good and loyal friend. Little did we know, that friendship would soon be tried and tested under the most unexpected of circumstances. The Wellington house was quite a fixture in our neighborhood. Located at the end of our quiet cul-de-sac, it stood in all its menacing, Gothic glory. It was huge and frightening, and the stories about it had haunted and entertained neighbors for many years. Folklore had it that the house's current sole occupant, Althea Wellington, had...
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