red tinted waters surface.
I emptied the bath, leaving a red ring around the top. I stepped back in, letting the hot water from the shower slowly bring life back to my cold limbs. I used my feet and cleaned the red ring off. Still confused as to where the blood – if it was blood – had come from? I searched over my body. No cuts – nothing?
I had no idea how long the shower had been running for, but when I reached for my watch from the side of the sink, it was showing almost five o’clock in the afternoon.
I must have needed the sleep. It had been a stressful few days. What I could remember other than the interview. This seemed to dominate my every thought, churning over and over through my mind, like a confusing mantra.
I looked around the bathroom floor. No clothes. I’m sure I had kicked them behind the toilet. But no, nothing. And the bathroom door was ajar?
My head felt all foggy, as if I was about to catch a bad case of the flu, or similar to the first few moments in the morning when you just wake up. It wasn’t exactly a headache, but something seemed off kilter. But then I don’t normally spend the night stretched out in cold water.
Twenty minutes later I sat at my old kitchen table, chewing on overcooked eggs, the yoke all hard. I preferred them runny, ‘sunny side up,’ as the saying goes, but I had been staring out the kitchen window, in a daze and lost track of how long they had been frying for. There were also a few slices of honey roast ham and pineapple cottage cheese, along with some slices of onion bread. A mishmash of what needed eating before it expired. I washed it down with single malt whisky. So unlike me to drink so early, but after everything that had happened and was still happening, I decided I wanted it. Needed it. Maybe my fuzzy head was a slight hangover?
I took my time washing up, having nothing in particular to do. Then as I was walking back through the front room I noticed the pair of cheap red high heel shoes. Images of the old used woman flashed before my eyes. “Sick,” I muttered as I picked them up. Then I noticed they had blood running down there sides. Now all congealed and brick red in colour.
I hadn’t noticed the blood from the night before. The shoes were red and I tried not to concentrate too hard on anything she was wearing – or more to the point – what she hadn’t been wearing. I most probably just missed it.
Then it dawned on me that the fire was still burning away in the hearth. Not the few scattered ashes that should have been there, but a blazing fire. And come to think of it, I couldn’t even remember lighting it the day before.
I still needed sleep I realized. Everything was becoming too much for me. Too little sleep along with unusual happenings, and not eating properly. I was possibly coming down with a cold or some kind of virus. Or the worst of all – man flu.
Looking across the room I realized the whisky bottle was half empty. Normally a bottle that size would last me over a year. It had gone right down in a couple days.
I tossed the pair of shoes into the fire, turned and headed upstairs. Yes, sleep would be great, just what my body needed – demanded. Sleep would sort my head out.
My bedroom was the farmhouses master bedroom, a high-ceilinged room with thick original rafters. A large old wooden window looked over the Moor’s, with a panoramic view that stretched for miles to the distant hills. Apart from today, everything outside was a blurry grey-white – the snow making visibility mere meters not miles.
Lying down on my large antique four-poster bed, which came with the farmhouse (I kept the bulky frame but replaced the mattress) I snuggled up under my eight blankets (I hate duvets, how they left cold air pockets where they didn’t fall around the body) to enjoy a few hours of shuteye. I pulled the thick blankets up over my head and fell into a deep dreamless sleep. Whenever I felt unwell, sleep
I emptied the bath, leaving a red ring around the top. I stepped back in, letting the hot water from the shower slowly bring life back to my cold limbs. I used my feet and cleaned the red ring off. Still confused as to where the blood – if it was blood – had come from? I searched over my body. No cuts – nothing?
I had no idea how long the shower had been running for, but when I reached for my watch from the side of the sink, it was showing almost five o’clock in the afternoon.
I must have needed the sleep. It had been a stressful few days. What I could remember other than the interview. This seemed to dominate my every thought, churning over and over through my mind, like a confusing mantra.
I looked around the bathroom floor. No clothes. I’m sure I had kicked them behind the toilet. But no, nothing. And the bathroom door was ajar?
My head felt all foggy, as if I was about to catch a bad case of the flu, or similar to the first few moments in the morning when you just wake up. It wasn’t exactly a headache, but something seemed off kilter. But then I don’t normally spend the night stretched out in cold water.
Twenty minutes later I sat at my old kitchen table, chewing on overcooked eggs, the yoke all hard. I preferred them runny, ‘sunny side up,’ as the saying goes, but I had been staring out the kitchen window, in a daze and lost track of how long they had been frying for. There were also a few slices of honey roast ham and pineapple cottage cheese, along with some slices of onion bread. A mishmash of what needed eating before it expired. I washed it down with single malt whisky. So unlike me to drink so early, but after everything that had happened and was still happening, I decided I wanted it. Needed it. Maybe my fuzzy head was a slight hangover?
I took my time washing up, having nothing in particular to do. Then as I was walking back through the front room I noticed the pair of cheap red high heel shoes. Images of the old used woman flashed before my eyes. “Sick,” I muttered as I picked them up. Then I noticed they had blood running down there sides. Now all congealed and brick red in colour.
I hadn’t noticed the blood from the night before. The shoes were red and I tried not to concentrate too hard on anything she was wearing – or more to the point – what she hadn’t been wearing. I most probably just missed it.
Then it dawned on me that the fire was still burning away in the hearth. Not the few scattered ashes that should have been there, but a blazing fire. And come to think of it, I couldn’t even remember lighting it the day before.
I still needed sleep I realized. Everything was becoming too much for me. Too little sleep along with unusual happenings, and not eating properly. I was possibly coming down with a cold or some kind of virus. Or the worst of all – man flu.
Looking across the room I realized the whisky bottle was half empty. Normally a bottle that size would last me over a year. It had gone right down in a couple days.
I tossed the pair of shoes into the fire, turned and headed upstairs. Yes, sleep would be great, just what my body needed – demanded. Sleep would sort my head out.
My bedroom was the farmhouses master bedroom, a high-ceilinged room with thick original rafters. A large old wooden window looked over the Moor’s, with a panoramic view that stretched for miles to the distant hills. Apart from today, everything outside was a blurry grey-white – the snow making visibility mere meters not miles.
Lying down on my large antique four-poster bed, which came with the farmhouse (I kept the bulky frame but replaced the mattress) I snuggled up under my eight blankets (I hate duvets, how they left cold air pockets where they didn’t fall around the body) to enjoy a few hours of shuteye. I pulled the thick blankets up over my head and fell into a deep dreamless sleep. Whenever I felt unwell, sleep
Similar Books
