He stared up at the windmill. It was ancient, perhaps centuries old, and yet it still towered over him in this desolate place, the gigantic wings still slowly turning. He thought it was long abandoned, but it didn’t make sense that the wings were still turning in that case. Unsure, he looked towards the door, but it was locked tightly and even the windows were jarred shut.
Then rain hit him in the neck so suddenly and heavy, that he jumped a mile and hastily looked around to see whether anyone was nearby. Black thunderous clouds had rolled into view above the windmill and within minutes it was pouring down fast and heavy. He started towards the door, hoping against hopes that he could somehow get inside. It was locked, like he thought. Hammering against the door out of sheer desperation, he suddenly heard a sound on the other side. He stopped and the door was pulled open a few inches, revealing yellow crooked teeth.
“Wanna come in, my dear?” the teeth asked, the corners of the lips pulled into an ugly grin.
Photo prompt provided by TJ Paris
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