Kristoffer Jay Martin

Stolen Birthright

Stolen Birthright By Kristoffer J Martin Bronze and red haze loomed over the dilapidated gabled ends of a late Victorian mansion. Curly-cued shingles lined the roof edge as a bristling mustache casting eerie shadows across a sprawling overgrown courtyard. Dark dusty windows bleakly mirrored the light of Ali’s 1980 BMW Sprinter van. “We’ll fit right in” she thought as the rust bucket squeaked to a stop. With a heave she threw open her door which crunched as it swung open on its sprung rusty hinges.