The Late Night

Sarah Harvey

 

There was something different about this place, he thought, looking up at the overgrown hedge surrounding the property.  Veiled by weeds, it was unkempt and neglected. He paced back and forwards in front of the tall enclosure a couple of times, but couldn’t see through to the house. The wrought iron gates were also overgrown with weeds. Strange, he didn’t remember it being like that.

He wandered slowly up the road, stumbling every now as he tripped over his shoelaces.

He fiddled with the gate lock and cursed when it wouldn’t open. Damn, he thought. Front gates locked again. So he decided to wander around the side of the house, tripping over his shoelaces. He giggled with a drunken slur every time he tripped.

 

When he came to the back entrance, he found that this gate was also shut, but soon discovered that it was not locked.  At the back of the garden was an old run down shed.  The yard seemed bigger than normal in the dark.  There was something different about this place.

As he snuck down through the garden, he upset a flock of birds as he went. Frozen with guilt, he stopped and looked around. He saw nothing. He reflects on his recent forced exit from the local pub. Elegant entries – and exits – were not his strong suit.

The run-down old cottage is not actually that big, but the block it was situated on about five acres, out of site from the street. Yet it was still easily accessible to the public from the back. Although glad it was unlocked now, he made a mental note to get a padlock for the gate and secure it in the morning.

Finally inside, he closed the door slowly behind him. He looked around with furtively… still no sign of movement. The house appeared more cluttered than it normally did; grandly furnished with quaint amenities, but it was filthy. He ran his index finger along the surface of the pine wood table; dust is on every surface, and dishes are piled high on the kitchen sink.

 

There was definitely something different about this place.

 

Suddenly, the light went on and Jack winced, covering his eyes with his sleeve.

‘Jack?’

Jack’s eyes adjusted to the light and he looked up, crying out in horror.

‘Mrs – Mrs White?’

Standing in front of him was a woman in her mid-sixties, scantily dressed in her flower-patterned nightie. Her hair was pinned up in rollers.

‘Mrs White, what are you doing in my house?’

The woman smiled seductively. ‘It’s not your house, Jack. It’s mine. You’ve wandered into my back yard again, haven’t you? Been out again tonight have we..? Why don’t you come and lie down with me...’