The House of Wood Read Online Free PDF Page B

The
cloud coverage was so thick, the warm rays of the dawn sun couldn’t
force their way through. It felt like night rather than day. A cold
wind battered against her, whipping around her legs. It made the
going hard. She had the feeling as though it was trying to drive
her back on purpose, to stop her reaching her destination. Maybe it
was? She thought. But it wouldn’t work. Lowering her head in to the
collar of her thick jacket, she pushed on.
    She didn’t know how long she’d
been walking. Her feet had just led the way; first through the rain
soaked streets, then out over the sweeping fields, along the hard
shoulder of the highway. Time just seemed to slip past as she
walked. It didn't seem to matter how long she had been gone, or how
far outside the town she was, she knew her feet would take her
somewhere.
    Her mind moved forward and
backwards between the past and present, trying to weigh up which
one was worse. Every now and then, a car would stream past her in a
hazy blur, spitting rain water up behind it. But even though her
eyes perceived it, she paid no attention. In the back of her mind,
she knew where she was heading and screamed at herself to stop, but
she just walked, stuck in a dream from which she couldn’t
escape.
    Before long, the road began to
incline upwards, the grey sky melding with grey treetops, looming
larger with every step. Within the next five minutes, it would be there, she thought, as she climbed higher
up the hillside. Its pointed roof would stick out above the ridge
line, stretching upwards, jagged and dangerous, like a knife
jutting into the heavens.
    Her steps were slow. Her
breathing shallower than it had been before. The constant drumbeat
of blood in her ears was like a marching song, edging her ever
closer. She lowered her umbrella and grasped at her hands in an
attempt to stop them shaking. This is a bad idea, she thought,
still moving forwards, never stopping. Her mind screamed at her to
turn back, to go into town and forget about this stupid need that
had pounced on her during the fluid waking moments of the dawn.
There was some glimmer of false hope buried deep down inside her,
pushing her on. Maybe she had made a mistake? Maybe it was just a
similar looking place? This was a small town; a lot of the
buildings looked the same, especially the farmhouses. Over and over
again she tried to convince herself that she had been wrong. Nobody
would ever want to rebuild that thing. And houses couldn't just
rebuild themselves. Could they?
    Looking up, she realised she
had already reached the top of the hill. The air stuck in her
throat like a piece of hard food, as she inhaled sharply.
    It was there. The house of
wood, renovated to its former glory. Gone was the flaky paint and
rotten wood of the porch, replaced by a bright white coat
stretching along its walls. The wooden steps leading up to the
front door were now perfectly square wooden planks, rather than
rough, crooked teeth. The windows were no longer encrusted with
years of dirt and grime. It was all a façade. Still they looked out
over the countryside like malevolent eyes, dark and dreary, as if
it was watching for something, waiting like a coiled cobra for a
time when it could strike again. The long shadow cast over her felt
frigid and desolate. No amount of cleaning, or decorating, could
remove the unwholesome stain that the building had left on the
surrounding area. On her own psyche.
    This is ridiculous, she
thought. The house hadn't done anything to her, it had been him . The house itself was just a building,
an inanimate object that couldn’t do anything except look creepy.
So why did she feel such hatred towards it? The dolls, she thought.
Nothing could explain the dolls. Anger and bitterness, ate away at
her. She hated it and everything it represented.
    As if on autopilot, she moved
forward and around to the right of the house. The bleak silence
seemed to permeate everything, seeping in to her pores. The
isolation was almost