Home Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home

The afternoon sunlight faded when I arrived at Rose Cottage. I gazed at the once beautiful home and tried to visualise the day its builders laid the foundation. From the outside, it looked like the others I had visited. If a path existed, it lay slumbering under dead grass and weeds. The black paint on the front door had been stripped by the sun and rain. The once white window frames hung rotten on their hinges. A shiver ran through me as I studied the estate agent’s brochure, then looked at what could be my perfect home.

Roses of every size and colour decorated the sides of the property and hung in swathes from the sagging wooden porch. Not a solitary piece of ground existed where roses did not grow. A curling plume of white smoke from the chimney would have completed the picture on a chocolate box.

         For a while I watched the flowers dip and sway in a gentle breeze. A sudden gust blew rose petals into the air. The dying sun beat down on my head and shoulders, and beads of sweat trickled down my face. A cloud crossed the sun. At least, that was my first thought. I glanced up. The sky was empty. Yet the garden had darkened. The roses no longer swayed, and each bloom turned towards me.

A sharp pain orbited my head; my vision blurred and my head swam. I stumbled like a drunken sailor and tumbled headlong. Terror hugged my soul. My eyes focused; I lay on a wooden floor. The stale odour of mould and damp assaulted my nostrils. Filtered sunlight illuminated cobwebs hanging everywhere. It’s dark. I moved to a window and wiped away the grime. Four streaks appeared on the glassn.    On the other side, four streaks emerged.

It was as if someone had copied me.

My eyes focused on the long, matted strands hanging everywhere. How did I get here? I picked myself up and meandered through the empty rooms, their emptiness uncomfortable. The floorboards creaked as I walked. If nothing else, it could cost a fortune to bring it into the twenty-first century. Dim light through the grime-covered windows made it hard to make out anything. In what looked like the kitchen, decaying scraps of food lay scattered on a table. A foul stench invaded my nostrils. I searched for the source.

Mice scurried away from a dead rat into the darkness. An uneasy sensation tormented me. Something filled the far corner. At first I mistook it for a heap of rags. Then it smiled.

          I backed away as it merged with the gloom. Afraid of my imagination, I thought the house was empty except for me. At the window I wiped dirt from the glass and looked at the garden. I listened to the incredible silence, which seemed to grow in intensity. From the loft came the clatter of children fighting and screaming; each demanded a turn on a rocking horse. One, a young girl, giggled.

         Another asked, “Is this one alive?”

         The rocking stopped.

Shadows formed where shadows could never exist. In the kitchen doorway, something beckoned and shuffled towards me. It raised a bony hand, its darker outline disappearing into the blackness of its garb. Whatever these images were, they approached nearer as the day faded. A hand reached out and touched me. I screamed. Terrified, I tumbled through the doorway into the hall and leaned against the wall.

         On a dusty shelf sat a collection of photographs.

Each showed a person standing in the garden. Men. Women. An old couple. Their clothes spanning decades.

Every photograph had one thing in common.

Behind them stood a barefoot woman.

Watching. Smiling.

         A melodic voice called, “There you are?”

         On the stairs sat an attractive but barefoot woman, watching me, her smile so sensual my wits failed.

         She smiled. For an instant her lips stretched a little too wide. Not enough to be certain. Calm yourself and sit next to me. Push those horrid ideas away. I’ve been waiting a long time. Your company is wonderful.”

         The visions that plagued my mind disappeared.

She came and whispered, “You look awful; lean on me.”

         An image flashed before my eyes: bones covered by rotting flesh. I sat on the bare wooden boards to gather my reason.

         “Come, young man. We want you to be fond of us,” her voice welcoming, tantalising.

         She had the lean hips of a teenage boy and a childlike body, immature, except for her face, which carried the weight of too many years. I remained for several minutes, riveted by her black eyes.

         “You must stay.”

         I stood, shaking and afraid, but her hand on my cheek reassured me. Her pretty features were clear when she smiled.

         With her by my side, I peered into the gloom once more.

         Voices resonated in my mind; each said, “Leave, go now.” They belonged to men, women and children, but they repeated, “Leave. Leave. Leave.”

Fear floods my system, and my eyes are wide open, taking in every ray of light. My mind tells me to run, but instead my feet stay fixed to the floor.

         From outside, someone whistled a tune as they pounded on the main door. A key turned in the lock, and the door opened.

         I freed myself, rushed forward, and stared at the boyish face of the agent I’d spoken to that morning, but he ignored me.

         I turned to speak to the woman, but she had vanished.

         The man entered and gave the hall a cursory glance. “God, this place is a mess; no wonder he didn’t wait.”

          He sighed and glanced towards the kitchen. “We must board this place up.” He turned, closed the door, and locked it. Moments later, his footsteps retreated.

         Shaking, I stood and screamed for him to come back as the dark surrounded me. I saw no one, but something grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen.

         Petrified, I ran to the main door. With all of my strength, I heaved, but it wouldn’t open. I turned and saw something new and horrifying. In front of me stood the barefoot woman with a loving smile. Shapes emerged from the darkness on all sides. Men, young and old. Women holding children. Their faces pale, their clothing decades out of date. Laughter erupted from every direction.

         One face looked horribly familiar.

         Mine.

         She held out her hand and, with triumph in her eyes, said, “We’ve been waiting for you.”