“Well. That's seven years bad luck,” she noted, turning to assess the damage.
The faded, silver surface lay shattered on the rug-covered floor. Tiny shards sparkled in the dim light. Spilt diamonds cut through a sky of dust to glint like stars. As Harmony traversed the strewn shards she picked out constellations in their splay.
All of a sudden she looked into one reflective sliver and saw something she had not expected. She looked up at the mirror’s frame still mounted to the plaster. Nestled within the wooden edging was a small door.
The pint-sized portal stood no more two feet high. Its façade was made of a dark wood inlayed with a pattern of golden leaves. The leaves spiralled from the outer edge in toward the centre. The middle of the design was simply a hole, a notch in the wood that looked to be lacking some element.
Harmony didn't want to take her eyes away from the door, fearful that it might disappear if she did. Her hand felt about on the floor for the doorknob. Her fingers gingerly, tentatively danced between the mirrored shards like a skater on a frozen lake. All the while Harmony stared at the little door unable to look away. Time seemed to be slowing. The air became thick and heavy. She could not take her eyes off the door nor could she blink...or even breathe.
Everything around her was diminishing. Blackness crept in from the corners of her eyes until nothing was left but the door. Then, just as she was fading, just as her last bit of strength was fleeting, her fingers twitched against the doorknob.
CHAPTER 8
The imperfect getaway...
Percival Montague checked his list once again. He added a third row of perfectly-straight ticks down the margin. He had packed the car with every essential he could think of. Adventuring into the wilds beyond the city was an unknowable and unquantifiable excursion. As such, he had ensured they possessed every possible item a holiday of this type may require.
He had never been to the countryside before, afraid of its distance from civilisation and its total lack of discipline. He preferred to watch nature on the television. He felt much safer when nature was kept neatly behind the screen.
Mavis, on the other hand, had lived in the country as a child. Thankfully she came to her senses and moved to the city as soon as she was old enough. Despite her youthful desire to escape she had always talked about returning someday. Winning the holiday meant her wish was being granted; free was something not even Percival could refuse.
She sat in the passenger side of the car holding the letter and instructions on finding the prize. Mavis had neglected to tell her husband the name of the cottage, guessing correctly that it would have been a deal breaker. She looked down and read the letter again.
Dear Mrs M Montague,
Congratulations! You are a winner!
You have been hand-selected by our organisation to receive a free, luxury two-week holiday. You will be staying in one of our five star cottages located in the beautiful Lake District.
Please find enclosed a map and instructions on how to find ‘Kilts Cove Cottage’ just a few miles from the village of Bellflower. The dates of your holiday are from April 22nd, staying 14 nights and departing on May 6th.
There is no need to respond to this letter as all the arrangements have been made on your behalf. All you need do is arrive and relax.
A representative of our company will be there to meet you upon arrival.
Congratulations once again.
Yours sincerely,
Mr F. Ovten.
Director of Customer Services
White & Snail LTD
Mavis folded the letter carefully and placed it in her handbag. The name of the cottage would have indeed been a reason for Percival to complain.
He would have said, “Kilt's Cove? In the Lake District? That’s a ridiculous name for a cottage in England. It must be owned by morons. I will not stay in a place owned by morons, Mavis.”
She rolled her eyes at the very thought of it. Mavis was excited to be going on holiday. Getting Percival away from the stresses of his job and out into the countryside would do them both the world of good.
“Yes. A nice quiet break,” she said, to herself. “This is exactly what we need.”
***
Several hours later Percival pulled off the motorway. This was much to the relief of the morning commuters who had been stuck behind him. The irate drivers had become tired of honking their horns and shouting at him to get out of the fast lane.
He had been driving at the perfectly acceptable speed of fifty miles per hour, which he now slowed to twenty on the winding, country lane.
They had just passed a dirt road with a signpost pointing up the track that read: ‘Darkfern Cottage - NO VISITORS!’ Percival frowned at the rudeness of the message. The car turned a corner and the track disappeared from view.
A second, more acceptable, sign declared that they were now approaching the rural community of Bellflower. Mavis pulled out the instructions once more and checked the name of the village that was mentioned in the letter.
The information told them to drive through the village and continue along the road until they found the large, gated entrance to Kilt's Cove Cottage. Nevertheless as they entered Bellflower Mavis insisted that they stop and get some postcards for the ladies in her knitting club.
Percival reluctantly turned into the horrendously painted street. The bright colours of the houses actually offended him. He sneered as they parked the car and he thought to himself that one wouldn't find such a ridiculous place in the civility of London.
“Look at this place, Mavis. It’s a disgrace. Have you ever seen such an abomination?” Percival ranted, gesturing to the colourful houses. “It's outrageous...isn't it, dear?”
Percival didn't wait to hear the response from his wife, who was about to tell him that she thought it was actually quite pretty. Instead he walked briskly down towards the open shop, its alarmingly red exterior only adding fuel to Percival's exclamations of abject disgust which echoed up the quiet street.
***
The sound of an agitatedly tinkling bell woke Marshal Trotter from a rather good dream. He stretched his stiff limbs and yawned as he reluctantly surfaced from his usual mid-morning nap. He slowly opened his eyes. It took him a moment or two before he realised that there was a customer in his shop which, Marshal knew only too well, was a rare occurrence.
The male customer looked very angry. He stared at Marshal with unbridled fury in his gaze. The blatantly annoyed man had a moustached lip that was curled up into a sneer, aggressively exposing his clenched teeth.
“What do you think you're doing?!” Percival practically shouted.
“What? Who are you?” Marshal said, scratching his head. “Is this a joke?”
“I could have robbed you while you slept on the job,” the man retorted. A woman dressed in a matching raincoat embarrassedly shuffled up behind him with a packet of rubber gloves and half a dozen postcards. She gingerly put them down with a map Percival had picked up.
“Did you?” Marshal asked with interest, switching his attention to the women and saying, “Two pounds and thirty pence please, love.”
“Did I what?”
“Rob me while I was asleep,” Marshal replied. He smiled at the woman.
“No. Of course I didn't!” Percival blustered in frustration at the boy. The boy’s lack of interest incensed him. “Who do you think I am?!”
“I have no idea know who you are, sir,” Marshal replied truthfully. He took the money from Mavis. “That's why I asked.”
“You, boy, have a bad attitude. You lack respect and discipline,” Percival chastised. He pointed a finger in the clerk’s face. “But I should expect little else from a child being dragged up in this excuse of a village.”
“Oh Percy, please don't,” Mavis pleaded to her husband.
“Well. Thanks for stopping by Percy, and welcome to Bellflower,” Marshal said, smiling and pointing to the door.
P
ercival snatched up the map and shoved it into his bag. Then he stormed towards the door, wrenched it open, and left. Mavis quickly followed him out onto the street as she mouthed an apology to the young boy behind the counter.
“Come back any time,” Marshal called out, reclining in his chair and smiling. He yawned, picked up a newspaper and began reading.
“What was that about?” Mavis asked, instantly regretting her question.
“What was it about?! That delinquent was rude and obnoxious,” Percival seethed. “I have a good mind to find his parents and...”
“Oh. Percy. No! We are on holiday,” Mavis reminded him, sounding weary. “I will not have you ruin it for me by offending the locals.”
“Well, I guess you're right,” he agreed, calming down a little. “They would probably come after us with burning torches and pitchforks anyway.”
“Enough!” Mavis scolded. “Let's just go back to the car and find the cottage. Then we can have a nice relaxing time. Got it?”
“Yes dear,” Percival replied stiffly.
As they reached the car and took out their map, Percival wanting to check where they were going just to be on the safe side, a familiar and terrible noise filled the air.
To Percival's horror, at the top end of the road, a purple ambulance came into view. He was sure it was the same one he had delivered the letter to. In fact he was positive...
Not only was it making the same horrendous noises but a red-haired woman, who had parked badly and climbed out, was now walking towards them. She even had the cheek to smile at them.
Percival stared, mostly from shock, at the woman. When the letter had finally left his possession he thought he was free of it. Yet here he was faced with one of the people he had delivered it to. What were they doing here? What were the chances of them arriving in the same tiny village?
As the woman passed them he continued to stare, much to the disapproval of Mavis who cleared her throat loudly and ordered Percival to close his mouth. He flushed red and began to mutter some explanation but Mavis wasn’t listening. She had already turned her attention back to the map. She was having some difficulty in locating the exact position of Kilt's Cove Cottage.
“Percy. I can’t find the cottage. It's not on the map.”
“What do you mean ‘not on the map’? Of course it is. Let me see it,” he said, pushing her out of the way and peering down his long nose at where she had been pointing. “What's the place called?”
“Kilt's Cove Cottage,” Mavis replied, without thinking.
“Well. That's ridiculous! We are in…” Percival stopped himself from continuing when he saw the look of exasperation on his wife's face. “Never mind,” he finished.
He located Bellflower with little effort and the road they had come in on. His finger traced the wiggly line following the route that the instructions quite clearly told them to take. His mind made mental notes of the potentially dangerous bends in the road.
His eyes drifted along, following his finger, scanning for the absurdly named cottage but he too found no sign of it.
“I told you it isn't there,” Mavis chirped.
As Percival scoured the map again a large lady in a waxed jacket and tweed outfit emerged from a doorway and began bounding down the pavement towards them.
“Morning,” she bellowed at them. “Are you lost?”
“No. I am not lost,” Percival replied, trying to remain civil. “This map is faulty.”
“Oh dear. Well, the shop down there sells them,” she said, helpfully. “It's my son that runs the place so just tell him Martha sent you. He’ll sort you out.”
“I bought this map from there,” Percival snapped. Though he stopped short of telling her what he thought of her son. Mavis shook her head and warned him to be civil.
“Perhaps you could help us?” Mavis asked, politely. “We are looking for a place called Kilt's Cove Cottage.”
“Are you sure that's what it’s called?” Martha quizzed. “It doesn't sound familiar and I have lived all my life around here.”
“Yes we are sure!” Percival barked. He could not hold his temper in any longer. “Do you think we would have come all the way from London...?”
“Don't you shout at me,” Martha retaliated. She puffed out her considerable chest and matched Percival’s stance.
Mavis shook her head. She was used to him and his short fuse after so many years of marriage but she still found him to be frightfully embarrassing. This was just another incident in a long, long list where her beloved had lost his temper at a perfectly nice and helpful stranger.
Mavis caught sight of the red-haired woman that Percival hadn't been able to take his eyes off. She crossed the road to avoid the escalating conflict but, very rudely thought Mavis, was avidly watching.
Mavis watched as the red-haired woman walked straight into a van door. The impact knocked her over and caused her to drop her bags. The smashing noise of braking glass echoed down the street and created a perfect escape from the arguing.
“Percy. Get in the car. We will find it on our own,” Mavis snapped at her husband. “Sorry about him,” she said, once he had sulkily slammed his door shut.
“You should get a muzzle for him,” the woman replied, as she watched what was happening across the road with interest.
“Not a word,” Mavis said threateningly to Percival as she got into the car. She was in no mood to hear any of his usual excuses.
They drove in silence, Percival fuming in anger and Mavis determined to ignore his sulk. His mood did seem to lift quite significantly when, after driving for no more than ten minutes, they rounded a corner and their destination came into view.
“See. I knew that woman was a moron,” Percival declared. He smiled smugly.
As they neared the clearly marked entrance to the cottage their way was blocked by a large, iron gate. Faint trails of mist crept from beneath it and the inappropriate name of the cottage was emblazoned across the surface of the gates in large, golden letters. How that woman had never seen this place was beyond Percival; there really was no accounting for some people's stupidity.
“Well? Now what are we supposed to do?” Percival asked Mavis. She was staring through the passenger window attempting to ignore him. “I said what are...” He began to continue then he stopped suddenly.
Mavis was not ignoring him at all. She was in fact staring at a man who had just emerged from the edge of the woods and was now approaching the car. There was something about the way he moved that seemed strange to Percival, almost as if he didn't quite fit into his skin.
The man was very tall and thin. His long, bony hands were clasped together in front of his chest. His head was completely bald and his eyes large. There was no mistaking his resemblance to a praying mantis. His skin was sickly-pale and it contrasted against the black of his suit and long coat.
In just a few of his elongated, but uncomfortable, strides the man cleared the distance from the woods to the car. He bent over and tapped on the window. His gaunt face had sunken, unblinking, bloodshot eyes that peered in the open window. His smile was wrong, off somehow. It looked more like a pained grimace than a welcome. His lips retracted and exposed long, twisted, yellow teeth.
Mavis slid down in her seat, she squealed as he suddenly reached inside the car. She immediately began winding up the window and cursed herself for not insisting that they paid for electric ones. The strange man did not remove his arm nor did his expression change. He just kept smiling and looking at her.
“Good god! Mavis, stop that!” Percival shouted at his terrified wife. “The man is just handing over the key,” he added with a mocking tone.
Mavis looked and in the man's outstretched fingers, hanging from a silver chain, was a large, black key. A flood of relief washed over her and suddenly she felt rather silly. She laughed nervously as she wound down the window and freed the gentleman's trapped arm.
“I
am ever so sorry,” she apologised. “I don't know what came over me.”
The man did not respond, other than to remove his arm and nod slightly before he stood up. He moved to the gates and with no effort at all pushed them open. He bowed deeply and gestured for them to proceed.
Percival drove slowly through the stone gateposts, careful not to scratch his car, all the while never taking his eyes off the manically-grinning man. The stranger-than-most man waved goodbye as they continued up the gravel drive and moments later he closed the gates again and disappeared.
“Something not quite right about that one. You mark my words, Mavis,” Percival commented, still watching the mirror to check the man had indeed left.
Mavis nodded weakly in agreement, still a little shaken from her reaction to him.
All thoughts about the grinning man were quickly expelled as they rounded a sharp corner and the house came into view.
“Oh Percy! Look,” Mavis gasped, pointing out the window.
Percival looked ahead at the cottage and he was pleased to see it was up to his exactingly-high standards.
A pitched, black slate roof sat atop white, stone walls. It looked more like a large country lodge than a cottage and Percival hoped that it wasn't a mistake. They parked the car and got out. Mavis smiled at her husband and it made him smile too. This was better than perfect, never before had anything ever been perfect.
The grand entrance resided at the end of a flagstone path. The footpath was flanked on each side with the most immaculate rose bushes that they had ever seen. The perfume from them was intoxicating. Both sweet and thick it filled the air and welcomed them as they approached the large, wooden door with their suitcases in hand.
Percival took the key from Mavis and placed it in the lock. It turned with a precise and satisfying click. It was almost as if the lock had been designed to operate in a manner that suited his idea of perfection...it was truly flawless. Perhaps the countryside wasn’t all bad. He may even allow himself to enjoy this quiet and much needed rest.
CHAPTER 9
Alone no more
Air gasped into her lungs as her mind resurfaced. The consuming blackness had retreated, freeing her senses once more. Harmony was lying on the floor in front of the little door. Fragments of mirror were stuck to her face and hair. She brushed them away absentmindedly and picked herself up.