The House

It was a day of damp; of cold seeping from the sky and from grass that smelt of cellars and decay. It lined the bare branches and parasitic balls of mistletoe. Buds like clenched fists held the promised leaves of next year tight within them. Jessie and Will approached along an avenue of dark trees that fretted against the grey sky. The metallic calls of jackdaws were dampened in the moist air.

The ruined house stood solid on the hilltop, its abandoned windows staring coolly over the mist-obscured valley, where smoke twisted from huddled chimneys.

As they approached the jumbled walls of brick and treacle-brown ironstone a child, parcelled into a yellow jacket, walked behind an empty window. She slid silently between the jagged walls and disappeared. A young couple perched on a windowsill stared vacantly across the valley, seeming almost frozen in time. Jessie and Will both felt the same chill, a sense that something was not quite right. By unspoken consent they moved away through a long-empty doorway. Fireplaces hung improbably, showing where the rooms they warmed would have been, their chimneys watching the grey sky with Cyclops gaze.

Around the side of the house was a loggia, grey pillars standing on lichen-smudged bases, pock-marked and imprinted with centuries of scratched graffiti. Will started to run his fingers across the stone, then jerked backwards.

“What?”, asked Jessie.

Will looked puzzled. He hesitated, tried to explain how the stone had felt. Not just cold, but with an unworldly chill; more strangely, he felt a buzzing sensation, as if an electric current ran though it.

Without really thinking, Jessie stretched forward and touched another pillar. The same … she shrank away, shaking her hand as if burnt.

The two looked at each other, confusion forming in Jessie’s eyes.

“That’s weird”, she said, trying to find some sense of normality or a logical explanation in what they’d just felt.

They thought hard, attempting to rationalise things, but nothing really seemed plausible. As they spoke, they started to notice the chatter of the jackdaws increasing in volume. The birds started to clamour, a continuous clatter of sharp, stony chacks that increased in volume and urgency. Jackdaws clothed every tree, expressionless blue eyes fixed beyond the house as they shouted their cries. And then, quite suddenly, they fell completely silent.

There was an uneasy rustling. Jessie and Will couldn’t tell whether the sound came from the birds or from the shifting breeze that brushed their faces. Both were transfixed, unable to move and completely bewildered. A single jackdaw separated itself from the flock and flew directly overhead as the sound grew to a low, loud rumble that seemed to anchor itself inside Jessie’s and Will’s bodies.

The building appeared to rock serenely and the ground beneath them lurched violently. Jessie and Will stumbled and fell, seeming to roll long after that first, single jolt. A jumble of arms, legs and gasping faces, they became the source of the rumble and flailed helplessly as the house and the earth and the dank wind played with them. The jackdaws remained impassive, in the mistletoe-encrusted treetops.

It felt like an hour, maybe longer but suddenly, a single call from a jackdaw signalled a total, frightening silence. There was nothing to feel: no cold or warmth, no breeze. The house stood, hard and still, no longer swaying. The grass and trees were just as they had been, jackdaws unmoved and gazing quietly into the distance.

It took a long time for Jessie to move. “Will”, she whispered, “are you there?”

Will grunted, tentatively moving his feet and hands. They felt somehow different, his bitten-down fingernails were now ingrained with dirt and his scuffed grey trainers were caked in mud. But nothing hurt. Everything just seemed heavier and colder.

They needed to get away. That was clear. But Jessie and Will felt a leaden tiredness that pinned them down. They desperately wanted to sleep, but Jessie knew they had to fight to get themselves up.

“Will! Don’t sleep!” she yelled. She pushed hard against the ground to roll herself over towards him, landing with a thump. Stopping for a few minutes to regain her breathe, she pushed her arm towards him as forcefully as she could. He felt hard and cold, and the contact made her gasp. It sent a sharp, crackling pain up her arm, but she somehow found the way to keep on thumping him, shouting at him to stay awake.

Eventually, Will responded, turning his head to look directly at Jessie. “I have to stay”, he said. “The house wants me to stay”.

Jessie’s stomach flipped. She wanted to scream and cry for help, but the motionless audience of jackdaws made her fearful of rousing them. Instead, she lifted her heavy hand and dropped it onto his arm.

“No. You have to come. Now!”

The sky was starting to darken and the walls now stood black and towering over them. She knew they had to get away before night fell. She rolled nearer to him and then pushed with all her strength. It was exhausting, but he dropped over onto his front.

“No”, he mumbled, “I have to stay”.

She was too sick, and too tired to answer. It was a long way to the avenue of trees with their dark, clawing fingers and the probing mistletoe. Every push was a body-aching effort. But, one roll at a time, she got him further from the house and nearer to their exit. It seemed like an eternity, but they got to the first of the trees and, slowly, Will became lighter and easier to move. As they made their escape, they heard the jackdaws taunt them from the trees. The house stood impassive and they couldn’t know that the columns of the loggia had acquired two new pieces of graffiti.