Categories
Prose

Marschta: The Barn

The Marschta Barn

The barn haunted me. I could not stop watching it. There was something inside. Something would step out of it anytime. I had to see what it was. I spent days up there. Brought a sleeping-bag when it was cold. Just watching. Listening. I had to. I had to know. What was the thing inside?

Text: Ellinor Kall | Photo: Fred Andersson