At first glance, Anna was mid- late 70’s, dyed long brown hair, although grey clumps of hair are now showing through.
“I wasn’t in” I paused, “wait did you say, you talked to me through the window”
“Yes” she slumped backwards and leaned against my broken water fountain.
“That wasn’t me” and I dizzily ran towards the backdoor. After a detailed search of my property the outside looks normal, no forced entry. But the inside was heaped in old clothing, pizza boxes and smashed plates, bowls and bent cutlery, which I thought was extremely odd, but there was yet to come.
Chapter 2: “Officer, Somebody Has Bent My Cutlery
I called the police
“Hello I wish to report a burglar that didn’t break in, tipped rubbish and clothes, which aren’t mine all over my living room, and bent my cutlery.”
“Ok sir, time to come off the sherry and gin” chuckled the young sounding female 999 operator.
“I’m not drunk” I replied shocked, but not surprised she said that.
“All of our officers are out currently with the murder in Bishipton Court. I’ll send someone out to you, if they aren’t busy” mumbled the operator.
“Ok, thank you” I replied, slightly relieved that they believed me, although inside I can imagine the whole operator office laughing hysterically at my misfortune.
Sometime later, a middle aged officer trundled over to Redwood Close, he was slightly overweight and had blondish hair but a hint of brown combined. He also had a brown moustache. He slowly entered the property when I invited him in, I left everything where it’s was, I had watched too much CSI: Miami on Friday nights to know not to move potential evidence. He had asked to see the kitchen, I opened the door, and he nodded I smiled a heartbroken smile, he entered and gasped, he saw dozens of forks, knives and spoons twisted, contorted and shaped in different ways, some inhumane.
“Uri Geller had a good time in here” the policeman joked; we both smiled and chuckled quietly.
“How long were you out?”
“9-10 hours, at work you see”
“Are there any witnesses”
“Actually yes, possibly, my good friend and next door neighbour, Anna”
After searching the whole house, he walked off the see Anna, half an hour later the door bell rang, the policeman was there snarling at me
“You liar, you were here the whole time, and you did all that. I have a mind to shop to the station”
I just stood shocked, bemused and above all scared. Can you imagine me in a 10 foot by 7 foot cell, for how ever long I would be there for. I wouldn’t survive!
“What did Anna say?” I whispered
“She said that she saw you, on the couch listening to music, and fumbling around”
“But I’ve been at work all day, and can I prove that” I said with despair and a sudden hatred at this policeman.
“Can you now” replied the policeman, with an ugly smug look on his face.
“I can give you names that will prove that I was at the local all day:
James the boss, Jenny Doncaster who I sit next to, Jim Hutchinson who I was in a meeting with” I prayed the people who I mentioned would testify that I was in the local all day.
I was lucky, they did, Jenny said to we were talking to each other all day, Jim said that I was in a meeting after work for 45 minutes, James wasn’t so enthusiastic about talking to the police about one of his employees, but he said that I was in the office all day.
The officer came back 4 hours later at 11pm; he told me that I should get security cameras or something that would catch whoever did this. But there was one final question which was unexpected:
“Did anything happen during the night?”
I was lost for words, I couldn’t say
“Well yes, as a matter of fact, I woke up to an evil smell which followed me all night until I got the Fabreeze out”
I said nothing had happened, I chuckled to myself imagining his chubby face if I had said that to him.
I had just remembered something, why did I take that box, for some reason I was drawn to it, like a bull to a red cloth, I found it again after 15 minutes of searching, and I opened it, crammed full of stuff. There was everything from car manuals to notepads to a Barbara Streisand DVD. I don’t even like her, and a key. But something caught my eye, something sticky on either side of the box, I touched it, it felt silky like a cobweb, but it was hard to get off your fingers. I walked to the bathroom, and put my hand under the tap, the cool, crisp, clear water flowed freely between my fingers. I slowly wondered back into the room to find the box tipped over and the contents scattered all over the room. Did I knock it over? I put everything back in the box and took it upstairs and set it down next to my Mac Book. I stood looking at my Mac for about 10 seconds; I sat down and turned it on. I swear it takes longer to load each time I turn it on. The Mac purred into life and the Apple icon flickered on for a second or two. I thought about Steve Jobs, God rest his soul. I put my hand to my heart thinking about him. He was in inspiration, an icon and a brilliant all round guy. I also noticed my nomination certificate for serial journalism, for a serial drama, a series of short stories in the local. I didn’t win. Some polish guy won, I read it, it was very good but a little unrealistic, and it was about his life in Krakow, Poland in the 70’s. They were a poor family and sometimes they had to sleep on top of each other to keep warm. Things like that which made me think how lucky I was to be living in a house in Stale.
Anyway I decided to make a coffee, and to read the news, to find out what to write about tomorrow. I did the research the night before. I re-entered the room and found my Mac Book on and a note on the screen saying “look in the wardrobe”. I was so scared I almost dropped the coffee on the bedroom carpet. I turned to face my potential threat, a walk in wardrobe. I froze just for a second, and creeped up to the wardrobe and just as I was about to open the shield between me and my enemy, the door shot open and out jumped Steve, a colleague.
“Jesus Christ Steve, god I wet myself then” I hissed.
“I know, I was watching you through a crack, absolutely creased I was laughing at you” said Steve, in between fits of laughter. I didn’t see the funny side, at first.
“What the hell, are you doing here anyway” I protested
“I came to tell you that James wanted to see you in his office tomorrow, 9am sharp.” Steve recalled.
“Couldn’t you have just text me that” I asked
“Sorry, I couldn’t miss an opportunity to see you squeal in horror” Steve face started cracking back into laughter, but tried to stop himself. Quickly after that disturbing entrance, he left in a flurry of words and chuckles. I started researching the violence in Libya, Syria and Bahrain and just touched on the protests in Yemen. I yawned and quickly my exciting research dragged into an extended piece of homework, which needed to be in the following day.
James’ morning scowl says it all really, things like “I really don’t want to be here” or “who are you?” and my favourite type of scowl “did I hire you?”, that look where somebody walks up to him and he just stares at them. Anyway I entered his office as quietly as possible, but there’s always that one creaky floorboard which screams “he’s here”. He swivelled around so quickly the chair pivoted on two wheels at one point.
“Damn chair” he crisply snarled, taunting the object. I noticed he had a scrape on his left cheek, although I pretended not to notice. I sat in silence as James got up off the chair, which breathed a sigh of relief when his fat body slowly rose.
“Take it Steve told you to come” He slowly waddled back to his chair, which huffed when he returned. I nodded, to which he replied with a grunt and a twitch of his moustache.
“Want to know how I got this?” He pointed a dirty finger at the gash. He continued
“I was called by the police, about you, they asked me things about you being at work” he paused to take a drink of water; I didn’t notice the glass unti
l I followed his hand and watched him take a sip and return it to its coaster.
“Why the hell did they want to know that” he thundered.
I proceeded to tell him about the policeman and Anna and the stranger that apparently was in my house. I finished, and focused my vision on James. Expression aghast.
“You should be a journalist” James replied, smirking.
“That’s not all” I excitedly told him about my experience with the stench and he was in a delirious, distressed look about which I didn’t understand.
“What do you think?” I questioned.
“I think I am going to set up a column about haunted sites in Stale and Plymouth” James still dazed.
I was bemused by this outburst by him, hopefully he believed me.
“What do you mean” I asked.
“I am going to ask you to enter haunted sites around the local area, and you are going to write about your experiences inside them.”
I was ecstatic, I was finally going to get my own column, I had dreaming about this for years, and I thanked him counted times. I told my colleagues about the new column and the experiences I have encountered. Everyone was shocked or puzzled, I couldn’t tell. Anyway the new column starts in next month. I was so excited about this, I almost forgot to ask him about the gash, but I guess it doesn’t matter now; I am on my way to a successful column. Or so I thought.
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