No one would buy the house. No matter how well he cleaned or how many white sage candles he burned, it was always the same. They’d walk into the girl’s room and that ghostly, ghastly aqua prom dress floated at the window, with rose petals scattered on the floor, and blood spattered on the walls.
Finally, he gave up and moved into the house himself. Months passed with nothing, but one warm April night she showed up in his bedroom, music wafting behind her and a knife in her hand.
“Dance with me, Daddy?”
It wasn’t really a question.
Image and prompt from the Carrot Ranch (99 words).
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