Broken Past

and quaint house, several emo

riendliness – a certain familiarity. As if I had been here before. As if I had lived here

wisp of a shadow circling and then flying past me so quickly, that it didn't quite regis

my nose and the anticipation of digging into something tender, soft, squishy and oh... so full of goodness. It felt so real that I could feel myself salivating at the thought. Ooh... I confess I was

to the long grass that grew all around as if it were protective fencing. Dry pine needles floated lazily down from nearby trees only to be picked up by the breeze and transported elsewhere. Dust motes seemed to obscure my vision. I r

t doesn't matter which of the two floors you're on, each feels like the ground floor. There are seven rooms on the floor we're entering now. There's a small spirally staircase out the back that leads to the lower half of this house.

its last tenants or the ones before them. For it seemed to me that the house had been empty a long while. Why on earth would someone not want a quaint little house, somewhere in the middle of a picturesque mountain with acres of adjoinin

mblance of a kitchen. For a minute there, I felt torn between the awe I felt for the house and the fear of living like that... as if I had crawled straight out of the 16th century – or further back. Didn't he say the house was older? What had I expected? Cable TV? Telephone wiring? Free WiF

rth! I brushed the thought aside reasoning with myself that the 'other voice' was probably the agent. I haven't even seen the place, I haven't debated over w

ere something wrong? Can I help you with something?" I found myself shaking my head, unable to speak lest I say something that made the man recommend me to the nearest asylu

aving here just yet. This house was beautiful. After almost a week of nervously searching for a place that was as secluded as this, I had nearly giv

ed every nook and corner. Spider webs floated down from the low placed ceilings. I wasn't very tall to begin with, so the height of the ceilings mattered little to me. At

minder of the shortage of build-able space. This also probably added to the practicality of being able to keep the house warm in the cold months. Nevertheless, I found this quirk... endearing. Like

could see that in some places rats or weather or perhaps merely wear and tear over the years had run the wood t

n a single piece of forgotten furniture remained. No broken chairs, no buckets with holes, no three or two-legged tables, nothing. I wondered if the previous occupants had taken

uite. The agent dug into his pockets for a handkerchief. "The smell of old wood, " he said, placing

next to what seemed like an underground stream that had found a surface opening. This he said, would be the only sou

where I come, outhouses meant bathrooms. I cheered up at the thought th

the grounds. I turned to take in my surroundings, what was once beautiful terraced fields of perhaps mustard and barley were now overgrown with pine trees and undergrowth. The wooden fence was no more than an odd stick in the mud. The spirally staircase t

ms. I turned to speak with the agent, "how quickly can you have at least one of the rooms in the house converted into a bathroom and another in

operty before I moved wouldn't cost me extended stay. "Done, " I said extending my hand for a quick shake. The agent looked pleased. "I'll draw u

business to come by in these parts, " the bank manager had explained with a sheepish grin. "You see most people here live at the lowest of standards, and they do not need half the service

y way back to the rest-house would settle my co