Under the Ashes

Andrew thought that I was off my head, striking away from the path into the sodden sea of grass. Kirsten just followed, keeping hold of my jacket. We flattened huge swathes of the stuff under our feet; the remainder battered at us, slipping cold across our faces. The weather had been working on us for so long that we hardly noticed. On we trudged.

The house’s insane design continued around the side, with windows out of line and wooden slats at unlikely angles. I nearly tripped over something hard, hidden in the undergrowth. It felt metallic. Andrew urged me on, pointing ahead round the back wall of the house.

The back door was a simple windowed wooden frame. The glass had been broken and still lined the frame with knife splinters. A net curtain flapped out, heavy with mould.