The hidden Sanctuary
Part 1 concluding Halloween 2017
The rancid smell caught him. It crept up his nostrils, choking his airways. His stomach heaved. Smells like something’s dead in here, he thought. Jerking the neck of his sweat shirt over his mouth and nose he stepped into the small room groping for the light switch. “Bloody storm must have brought the wires down,” he muttered.
His eyes probed the inky darkness. He felt he wasn’t alone. A shape loomed beside the empty grate. That threw him. No one ever came here anymore.
His skin prickled. Mabel would be angry at him. She’s say he had revealed their sanctuary to another.
Still holding the sweater over his nose he shuffled into the space between the door and the window keeping a sharp look out for movement from the thing beside the grate.
He was in the centre of the room now. The smell was stronger here. It stung his eyes.
It puzzled him. He had the only key. Had a bird or animal come down the chimney and become entrapped in the room?
He grinned. Mabel would be pleased. But disappointed she hadn’t been here to watch it die.
He listened for sounds: a creak from the old floorboards marred with inmate’s teeth marks; a breath expelled almost soundlessly. There was only silence and dead voices from the old walls
He was near the window now. It’s scratched blacked out panes let in narrow slivers of light that lay across the floor like dried bones.
Dead flies stuck to the black paint; where they had trespassed on Kelvin’s artistic handwork before the paint had dried.
He smiled his approval. The splayed wings of the flies immortalised in the dried paint made a nice pattern against the black glass.
The room felt threatening today, he thought. He glanced upwards. Someone had removed the light bulb. Anger gripped him. Mabel was messing with him again; making a point because he had blackened the window; took control of daylight?
He didn’t like confrontations but Mabel had gone too far this time. This was his sanctuary! She was his guest. If he wanted to change things like blocking out daylight, he would.
He felt about for his supply of spare bulbs. Finding them, he took his courage in both hands and shifted his watching eye from the silent stiff upright shape beside the dead grate.
Dragging his chair beneath the dangling light fitting, he clambered onto to it. He rocked precariously as again and again the bulb refused to lock onto the hanging wire
His arms grew tired.
He could hear Mabel’s soft chuckle somewhere in the room. She knew he was afraid of heights. She’d be watching; taking pleasure from his fear. “You’re a failure. Give up. You know you want to, “the voice said.
Kelvin felt the weight of her taunting words.
She was wrong, so wrong.
When he was in the room he could do anything.
In one deft movement he slid the bulb into position, heard the click as it connected with the swaying cord.
The room filled with light.
His intruder stood before him.
Kelvin blinked.
A deer, its dead eyes glinting glassily under the bright light, stared back at him.
Gemma Hill 2017 copyright
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 