The Crooked House
Upon a hill deep in the welsh woods remained a house that leaned to one side. Old. Broken. Crooked. A house full of boogeymen. Bill lived here till he suddenly passed away in the armchair. His body wasn't discovered for weeks until his daughter came for her monthly visit. The skeletons of caged animals next to the hollow remains of a Christmas tree.
“Houses have their own ways of dying, falling as variously as the generations of men, some with a tragic roar, some quietly, but to an after-life in the city of ghosts, while from others—and thus was the death of Wickham Place—the spirit slips before the body perishes . . . By September it was a corpse, void of emotion, and scarcely hallowed by the memories of thirty years of happiness.”
― E.M. Forster.
''Come With Me.''
The door was barred shut. As if everything was made to be locked away to rot & dissolve like flesh on bones. The skeleton of a farm dog in the garden. Toys, presents, books & the smell of old lavender was haunting the house like a ghost.
Bill lived a simple life. Isolated from the village. Reclusive & hidden away
The front door was held together by a small thread of string. The windows scratched and darkened by old polkadot curtains. Climbing through a small open window, I found myself with the eyes of family photographs staring at me. Faded, old and forgotten. It seemed as if they had seen an old friend. Boxes filled with baby clothes and unworn suits covered in moths. A chair with springs coming out of every side was facing the front window.
Bill lived a simple life. Isolated from the village. Reclusive & hidden away
The front door was held together by a small thread of string. The windows scratched and darkened by old polkadot curtains. Climbing through a small open window, I found myself with the eyes of family photographs staring at me. Faded, old and forgotten. It seemed as if they had seen an old friend. Boxes filled with baby clothes and unworn suits covered in moths. A chair with springs coming out of every side was facing the front window.
The former owner ‘Bill’ lived alone and isolated. ‘’He preferred the company of sheep than to wolves’’.
The former owner ‘Bill’ lived alone and isolated. ‘’He preferred the company of sheep than to wolves’’.
He was a carpenter and enjoyed making toys for the local children. Unmarried and without children of his own, he lived quietly inside the crooked house. His days consisted of taking care of his land with his sheepdog Molly, who's bones were decaying in the back garden. Bill passed away in the armchair that was facing the front window. His remains were not discovered for a couple of months. The stain of his remains still remained tattooed inside the chair. The skeletons of cats and dogs left inside cages in the corners of the room. The smell of decayed flesh and bone forever echoing in the air. Inside the cottage the rooms were filled with the memories of a man who never existed.