Thursday Doors Writing Challenge: House of Broken Dreams

Posted by: Darlene on: May 27, 2025

• In: Doors | short stories | Writing
• 127 Comments

My story contribution to Dan’s Thursday Doors Writing Challenge is inspired by a picture created by Katy Trail Creations. You can join in Dan’s challenge here: https://nofacilities.com/thursday-doors-writing-challenge-2025/ Check out the other brilliant stories as well.

Image credit: © Katy TrailCreations

House of Broken Dreams by Darlene Foster

“She’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes,” Annie sang as she skipped through grass as tall as her. The grass ended, and she found herself at the edge of a lonely dirt road leading to a sad house.

Intrigued, she wandered down the road until she arrived at the two-story house with peeling paint and a crooked front door hanging like a broken leg. She tugged at the door and pulled it open far enough for her slight frame to squeeze through. When her eyes adjusted to the dusty light, she made out a wooden table set for six. A round loaf of bread rested on a thick slice of cedar, a rusty knife beside it.  She poked the bread with her finger. Hard as a rock. Her eyes searched the shelves above, filled with rows of preserves bound together with cobwebs. She stepped closer and squinted to read the labels. Beet Pickles 1938. Blueberry Jam 1937.  

Thirty years ago!

Annie backed away until she bumped into something. She turned around to see a treadle sewing machine, like one she recently saw in the museum, the needle stuck in a lace-trimmed cotton hankie. On the opposite wall stood a piano, a music book open to What a Friend We Have in Jesus.  

The hair on her arms lifted. It was as if the people who lived in the house left in the middle of their day. It was starting to freak her out.  

A photograph album lay on the piano bench. She leafed through the pages of sepia photos held in place with gold triangle corners. Elegant ladies in old-fashioned dresses and fur coats smiled back at her. Serious men with dark suits and black moustaches stared straight ahead. Babies in lacy prams, all bundled up, even though it looked sunny out, laughed at an unseen audience. Children dressed like little ladies and gentlemen stood still, but looked like they wanted to play instead.

She flinched when she came upon a page revealing a photograph of a dead person in a coffin. Then a thud upstairs, followed by a whimper, caused her stomach to tighten. Annie raced out of the house, clutching the photo album, her heart pounding in her chest. Her skirt caught on a nail and ripped, leaving a piece of her in the house, along with the ghosts and the memories.

***

For years, Annie kept the photograph album in the back of her closet. When asked to create a vintage window display downtown, she remembered the album and decided it would be a great addition. As she put the finishing touches on the display, an elderly, well-dressed woman watched. She pointed her cane at the open album, “Where did you get that?”

“I found it in an abandoned house when I was a child. I’ve always been curious about the people who used to live there, as it looked like they left abruptly. Do you happen to know who these people are?”

The woman slowly nodded, tears forming at the corners of her pale grey eyes. “Yes, these pictures are of my sister and her family. She married a man whom my parents didn’t feel worthy of her, and was considered the black-sheep of the family. They were both killed in a car accident in 1939. The four children were split up and adopted by strangers. There was nothing I could do, I was attending university overseas at the time, and then the war broke out…” Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she sighed. “They were the only family I had, and I never saw them again.”

She swiped a finger under her glasses and stared at Annie. “When did you say you found this album?”

“It was the late sixties. I was twelve.”

“You must be mistaken. That house was torn down in 1951.”

“I-I wasn’t even born then.” Annie gulped and closed the worn album with care. She handed it to the woman.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

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There is still time to join the challenge.

Thanks to Dan Antion for organising this!

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Tags: books, Dan Antion, fiction, HOuse of Broken Dreams, short stories, short story, Thursday Door Challenge, writing, writing challenge