Kevin Schwandt
Bio
Musician and teacher.
Stories (2)
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Mr. Wharton's House
We stared at the empty ground for what felt like hours before realizing we should probably find the house. An old man was in the house when it disappeared, and he deserved to be located. The house was not particularly interesting, but the man was.
By Kevin Schwandt4 years ago in Fiction
This House is Old
This house is old. It isn’t going anywhere. At night, sometimes I hear the wind rattle the windows and imagine a straight line running from the end of the crack in the dining room wall to the bowed, water damaged gap in the century old wood floorplanks, splitting it open wider into a broad v-shaped gash ripping up the wood along the grain all the way to the chipped, leaded glass window in the front porch, which shatters out into the street. That’s the line where the west wall will detach from the house and tip over, knocking down the dying sesquicentennial ash tree and landing next door, our bed sliding behind it and falling from the second floor, so we’ll be dead before the rest of the house collapses in on itself.
By Kevin Schwandt4 years ago in Families
