CHAPTER 2
As I grew up, I decided to tell myself, the evils of the dark did not really exist, and eventually, my fears left me. My imagination however grew, and not surprisingly I became a writer. I developed a love for children’s books. My books were full of fairies that lived in a perfect magical land. This was a world full of happiness, kindness and love. It was always twilight there, and the whole land was filled with lanterns, strung through the trees. They blew gently in a constant soft breeze. Flowers filled the fields; primrose, cowslip and clover, all spread out like a beautiful pastel painting. Fire flies flitted around leaving bright sparkling trails, and the world was full of peace.
My books gave me confidence, and I became more normal and outgoing. I dated and married and to top my happiness off, my books began to get rave reviews.
I became a success, and was on the best sellers list, with a movie in the pipeline. The years passed by and my life was now good, until one day, my husband walked out on me. No reasons, no excuses, just left and never came back. I fell apart. My publisher had made an advance for my next book, and although trying to be supportive, he was running out of patience.
I knew I had to move away from all the memories surrounding me. I had to make a fresh start and then maybe I could get back to my writing. Money was not a problem, as I said I was doing very well. I sat down and thought about what kind of house I would like to live in, and where I would like it to be. I wrote a wish list, if I was going to do this, then I wanted the perfect home. I contacted quite a few estate agents, sending them a copy of my wish list, and asking them to send any details they thought would interest me.
Every day I checked through the post and short-listed any I wanted to view. I had to admit there were not many, I didn’t know what I was looking for exactly, but nothing seemed right, there was always something missing. I was becoming discouraged. I thought maybe I was asking for too much; until one day my mail arrived. I checked through the listings I had been sent and once again found nothing. I then opened an envelope unlike the usual ones I had become so familiar with. The first thing I saw was a covering letter from an agent I had not been using, “Graham and Johnson”. The letter asked me to consider the details they had sent, as they thought the property would suit me.
I took one look at the picture in front of me, and I knew immediately, I had found my new home. I rang the number on the top of the letter and made an appointment to see the house that afternoon. For the first time in months, I was excited. I was to meet the agent at his office and he was going to drive me to the property. He explained the property was not sign posted, and was situated at the end of a track road; it would be easier for him to take me than to try to give me directions.
I arrived at the office early and Mr Graham himself came to greet me. I was eager to get straight to the property, so Eric, as he asked me to call him, took me to his car and off we went. As we drove along, we chatted easily, and I asked him how he had known I was looking for a new home and how he had obtained my address. He explained the old woman who had lived there, had died almost a year ago at the ripe old age of 104 years. The house was now out of probate and the only relatives she had were distant. He was very honest and did not hide his dislike for these people; he went as far as to say, that he knew they could not wait to get their hands on the money from the sale.
They had gone to check out their inheritance and probably picking over anything they had thought was worth money. They said they had found a letter by the kitchen door, telling them to give my details to their agent and to send the information on the house out to me. He admitted he had sent them out of desperation to get rid of an unsavoury client; I sat trying to take the information in. As he chatted on, my mind wandered. I was trying to imagine who would leave my name, and if it was a friend, then why didn’t they just come and tell me about the house themselves. I stared out of the window and suddenly snapped back to reality. I realised we had turned off the main road and were heading down what he had described correctly, as a dirt track. Large trees grew either side making the way appear dark and shady.
About five minutes’ drive down the track we came to a bend. As we followed the track around the bend, the sun blasted once again, and I saw it, standing there, in front of me. I gasped at the beauty of what I could only describe as a quaint old cottage, glowing in the rays of a golden sun. The building was made of stone, with ivy scrambling up the walls. The tendrils seemed to be searching and reaching out for the next foothold. Time had weathered the old stone and it blended into the surroundings perfectly. I had a feeling the cottage was alive and waiting for something. This thought, far from scaring me, excited me. I felt as though it was welcoming me.
I turned to look at the garden. This was an incredible sight. Wild flowers filled the space, the colours spreading out like a pastel painting. I was in awe at the splendour, and asked Eric, who had been responsible for the gardens upkeep. He informed me the owner had hired an old gardener, and a proviso had been included with any sale of the house, that his employment must continue. He told me the pay was low and the gardener had assured him he was not interested in changing any part of his agreement with the previous owner, including the wage. This suited me fine, as I had not been blessed with green fingers and would have hated to see this heavenly space ruined.
I looked across to the middle of the garden, and there stood an old well. A wooden strut stood above it with a hanging bucket and lever to lower it, it was so pretty and as I stared, I thought I caught sight of something peeking over the well wall, and then it was gone. It was probably a small animal or even a trick of the light.