Graham inserted the key. Behind him Julie nibbled her upper lip and looked at the peeling paint on the once dark-blue door. He seemed to her to be taking a long time and it was cold standing out here on the dark doorstep. There was very little light from the street lamp on the opposite side of the road. At last he said, “That’s got it,” and pushed the door open before reaching for the light-switch. The hall stayed dull as if the lamp was operating on low power. “After you,” he reached behind her and stood to one side as she entered, “the first door on the right,”. She took a step forward and turning the handle indicated, pushed the door open. He reached past her and flicked another switch, this time the light was brighter. “Welcome in,” he smiled, “what do you think of it?”
Julie looked around, her first impression was she had entered a Victorian boudoir with two large armchairs, a dresser with a large mirror and old-fashioned china ornaments. A tall dark wood bookcase filled one wall. The top two shelves were crammed with very old looking books in leather binding. She realised that it was probably these which gave the room it’s distinctive, rather unpleasant smell. If she was going to visit him again she would have to do something about that. A strange thought occurred to her that it smelt like something long dead.
Graham looked at her nervously, he could sense something wrong. He hoped that she would not be another of his guests who got frightened and asked to leave before his fun began.
Look at these walls, a chocolate box cottage you may think. You may change your mind when I tell you a little of it’s history. A dwelling has stood on this site for at least four centuries and before that a dolmen from the bronze age. The stones themselves, taken to be used as gateposts on local fields. There are no records of the previous owners of the cottage but when the current owners moved in they wanted plain whitewashed walls in keeping with the other moorland cottages. The painter who they engaged for the task, a local man, shook his head when he agreed the price but completed the task. After less than a week the gleaming white walls began to adopt a pinkish hue. It always happened. The locals believed it was the blood of the ancients buried in the ground below seeping back up through the earth.
Nursed unto the death,
When the pen takes control. 