The House Remembers: Day 4
She was delicately pretty, with long lustrous dark hair, and she stood naked before the old four-footed bathtub. Around her all the sorrows of the world were gathered and she knelt amidst them, clasping her hands together in prayer.
"I'm too weak, Lord," she whispered, "Too weak for him."
"Forgive me, Lord," she whispered, "Forgive me for loving him."
She lowered herself into the steaming water, and reached out...
From her wrists, from the deep furrows where the knife had been, her blood formed pink clouds in the water.
Above her, on the bathroom window-ledge, a fat black cat raised a paw to its mouth and licked.
***
The grey of the previous few days had finally given way to late autumnal sunlight by the time Todd awoke. His head throbbed but, apart from the slightly nervy feeling which seemed to be constantly with him now, he felt good and - as he told himself - the cellar held plenty of headache-medicine.
"Strange dream", he thought, "but there might be some way of fitting it in somewhere." Something about the prayer. The house destroys intruders by preying on their weaknesses? Well, whatever. Get some breakfast. Think about it later.
He threw on a tee-shirt and some jeans, washed and shaved hurriedly in the bathroom. He was pleased to notice that he was looking a great deal better than he had the previous morning; better than he had done in months, in fact. He admired his reflection in the mirror for several minutes before his stomach growled at him, reminding him that he hadn't eaten at all the previous day.
In the refrigerator he found eggs, sausages, bacon, mushrooms and a further hunt around the kitchen turned up some slightly stale bread, all of which he fried while the coffee percolator bubbled away on the work surface. As he worked he hummed the melody he'd heard in his dream, the melody from what would be the title track of his album, "The House of Shadows".
After he'd breakfasted, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands, he thought about the way he'd allowed himself to become so spooked.
"Well," he thought, "I've always had a pretty powerful imagination and I guess it's no surprise that it should run away with me now. Still, I'll get the writing finished tonight, get something recorded tomorrow and then get out of here before my imagination kills me!"
He smiled at the idea.
***
As dusk began to fall he went through the house switching on every light that he could find. He'd already added several more bottles to the empty ones lined up on the coffee table and was carrying the first of these in his hand, sipping from it occasionally, as he progressed through the rooms. It was obvious to him that his nerves were shot, and he didn't feel that he'd be able to settle down to serious work while he was jumping at shadows - it was a sensible precaution, that was all...
The evening passed uneventfully, and he worked as furiously as before. He'd decided that the house was as intolerant of human weakness as its builder and he'd elaborated on the idea of the house turning the weaknesses of 'intruders' against them: it was the key he needed to finish the songs about each owner of the house, and the stories of how they met their individual ends. Of course he knew nothing about any of them - not even their names, save that of the last owner from whose estate he'd purchased the place - but he found no difficulty at all in furnishing all the detail he needed from an imagination whose sudden fertility frankly astonished him.
And, fuck, what he was writing was pure fucking poetry! Words had previously been his great weakness as a song-writer, it had always been a terrible struggle to turn his thoughts into anything that didn't read like nursery-rhyme shite, but now, man, he was inspired!
"Maybe it's the wine, man!"
He giggled tipsily at the thought and reached for another bottle.
***
By the time the birds began singing in the greying darkness outside he was, he thought, all but finished. All he had left to do was to get something rough on to the hard drive tomorrow and he could get back to London and some serious partying. He was exultant, and he hummed happily to himself as he took a final swig of wine and headed for the door.
Just as he was leaving the room he turned, and through the window that overlooked the garden he saw two green eyes peering in at him.
"I'm too weak, Lord," she whispered, "Too weak for him."
"Forgive me, Lord," she whispered, "Forgive me for loving him."
She lowered herself into the steaming water, and reached out...
From her wrists, from the deep furrows where the knife had been, her blood formed pink clouds in the water.
Above her, on the bathroom window-ledge, a fat black cat raised a paw to its mouth and licked.
***
The grey of the previous few days had finally given way to late autumnal sunlight by the time Todd awoke. His head throbbed but, apart from the slightly nervy feeling which seemed to be constantly with him now, he felt good and - as he told himself - the cellar held plenty of headache-medicine.
"Strange dream", he thought, "but there might be some way of fitting it in somewhere." Something about the prayer. The house destroys intruders by preying on their weaknesses? Well, whatever. Get some breakfast. Think about it later.
He threw on a tee-shirt and some jeans, washed and shaved hurriedly in the bathroom. He was pleased to notice that he was looking a great deal better than he had the previous morning; better than he had done in months, in fact. He admired his reflection in the mirror for several minutes before his stomach growled at him, reminding him that he hadn't eaten at all the previous day.
In the refrigerator he found eggs, sausages, bacon, mushrooms and a further hunt around the kitchen turned up some slightly stale bread, all of which he fried while the coffee percolator bubbled away on the work surface. As he worked he hummed the melody he'd heard in his dream, the melody from what would be the title track of his album, "The House of Shadows".
After he'd breakfasted, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands, he thought about the way he'd allowed himself to become so spooked.
"Well," he thought, "I've always had a pretty powerful imagination and I guess it's no surprise that it should run away with me now. Still, I'll get the writing finished tonight, get something recorded tomorrow and then get out of here before my imagination kills me!"
He smiled at the idea.
***
As dusk began to fall he went through the house switching on every light that he could find. He'd already added several more bottles to the empty ones lined up on the coffee table and was carrying the first of these in his hand, sipping from it occasionally, as he progressed through the rooms. It was obvious to him that his nerves were shot, and he didn't feel that he'd be able to settle down to serious work while he was jumping at shadows - it was a sensible precaution, that was all...
The evening passed uneventfully, and he worked as furiously as before. He'd decided that the house was as intolerant of human weakness as its builder and he'd elaborated on the idea of the house turning the weaknesses of 'intruders' against them: it was the key he needed to finish the songs about each owner of the house, and the stories of how they met their individual ends. Of course he knew nothing about any of them - not even their names, save that of the last owner from whose estate he'd purchased the place - but he found no difficulty at all in furnishing all the detail he needed from an imagination whose sudden fertility frankly astonished him.
And, fuck, what he was writing was pure fucking poetry! Words had previously been his great weakness as a song-writer, it had always been a terrible struggle to turn his thoughts into anything that didn't read like nursery-rhyme shite, but now, man, he was inspired!
"Maybe it's the wine, man!"
He giggled tipsily at the thought and reached for another bottle.
***
By the time the birds began singing in the greying darkness outside he was, he thought, all but finished. All he had left to do was to get something rough on to the hard drive tomorrow and he could get back to London and some serious partying. He was exultant, and he hummed happily to himself as he took a final swig of wine and headed for the door.
Just as he was leaving the room he turned, and through the window that overlooked the garden he saw two green eyes peering in at him.
Comments
Post a Comment