A Dangerous Obsession
I memorise the address and shut the computer down, hurrying out of the office to my car.
Outside, dusk is settling over the area with a hint of damp and mugginess in the air. I drive quickly, nearly going through a red at a set of traffic lights. I continue on along the coastal road, tight chested.
I didnít know what I was expecting when I looked for her name, but I wish I hadnít. The different surname indicates she has married since we last saw each other.
That shouldnít bother me. But it does.
Leave it alone, I tell myself as I approach the roundabout near the foot of the cliffs. Or youíll lose everything.
I look at the boat huts near the water and shudder.
The sky is thick with an oppressive heaviness and the sea has a strident tone to the water. I take the lane that weaves its way in a steep climb to the lane of cottages.
About a third of the way up, lightning streaks across the sky, followed by downpour. I drive on, my head full of fractured memories; incomplete flashes of violent outbursts in the House, matching the lightning and the bursts of thunder over the bay. I hear the sound of smashing china and broken glass and I see myself shaking him by the bags of cement near the Private Lounge. Shaking him and not stopping, my temper out of control as I, too, slipped into the madness of the House.
Inspired by The House On The Hill
The old house stands at the top of a hill
Alone and abandoned
Surrounded by grass and earth
Weeds sprout across an uneven path
The faded curtains and peeling paint hint of secrets
An unproven rumour from the past
The house has remained empty for years
People donít want to come here
Apart from drunken kids for weekend dares
Or the morbid drawn to tragedy
© Lawrence Estrey 2019