She has been here for days.Her thirst beaten by hunger, then that
the heat andthenthe feelingspassed her completely. In fact she
didn't feel much at all. It isn't so bad, she though asshelooks
and picks up her favourite book that lay half sunkun in the sand.
The bookwas theonly item she'd managed to rescue from her
smouldering suitcase that now lay smoking in the distance.
She looks at the book, the enchanting picture of a haunted house
on the top of a staggered cliff inviting to her to begin. Her
mudded palms savour the feel of the 350 page soft back and after
a pause of appreciation she pry's at the first page and with
herfinger rested on the first word she reads aloud...
"Ahalf moon backed by a speckledstarlit sky stands to
attention, a single line of lightshining upon a crocked door both
worn and broken through the years. A rattle, a hum and then
silence; the wind is heavy and strikes the door every few seconds
keeping its spectators at bay.
The creaking though does not stop at the entrance, the play
of haunting echoes stretch where feet once walked and voices once
bounced indeed throughout the old house. But this wooden wreckage
harbours something more poignant than that of ghostly happenings
or a spooky temprement. For it holds a secret. A secret so cold
that even now, its residence past still walk the soul of its
It was along time ago that the secret was told far and wide,
millions of miles away from each mouth it blistered and grew so
large until the house and it's secret was feared a bad omen, and
soon never to be spoken again."
A dirty finger pauses on the page, a single stroke of hair
falling into her eyes and blocking her view. Squinting she pulls
the fleeting dark strand away and wonders about the secret.The
tale strikes curiosity in her and suddenly she senses she is no
longer alone, yet she is very much alone... She is of course
She takes a deep breath; the wind from the soft waves crashing
gently to shore is light against her grubby face as she looks
out, nothing to see but sand and water. Behind her, the trees are
content in her company, creating a little shade from the
starching heat helping her find her place on the page as she
continues in silence.
And there she sits reading page after page, day after day, the
hope of being found on the island slipping with each word until
she can no longer turn the pages, or lift her eyes to read them.
Too weak to do anything but think of that place; the haunted
house on the cliff edge and the secret never to be told again…