The house in between

Welcome to your new home Diana,” the tall man with the funny caterpillar eyebrows smiled genially down at me and although I ached to smile back, my face was frozen into a stubborn sobriety. “I hope you like it here,” he continued but my attention roved away from his words.

I was standing in a scraggly yard. Red black roses, more thorn than flower, lined the pathway leading up to the strange ambling house before us. It was an old house, that much was clear, and it stood a little ways off from its neighbours like a distrustful cat. It was evidently built in the late Victorian era but it was in a relatively good condition and as we mounted the porch steps I could see that the floorboards were greatly worn but had recently received a coat of paint and varnish. The house itself was in tones of slate grey, black, rust brown and white. But mostly grey.

He lifted the lion head knocker on the front door and tapped it gently on a metal plate, once, twice.
The door opened almost instantly revealing an ancient crone. She wore a practical white apron over a neat black dress with only a bit of lac at the sleeves for decoration.

“Good evening Lord Fanquin,” the old servant said curtseying slightly in the old fashion. Her voice was barely above a whisper and I later learned that she only ever spoke to him. We stepped inside and the woman took my coat as I pulled it off. Fanquin closed the door behind us and introduced me.

“Anna, this is Diana, our new boarder. Diana, this is Anna our lovely housekeeper. Whenever you need to know where something is, ask her.”

I bobbed my head slightly feeling slightly moved by the polite atmosphere. “Hello Anna.” My voice was frail, weak from disuse.

Anna cracked a smile and I suddenly liked her but I wondered how it was even legal to make someone so ancient work.

Fanquin smiled as if we had just had an emotional display of showing how happy we were to see each other. “Anna, will you please show Diana to her room?”

Anna nodded and took my hand as if I was still a small girl and not one in her late teens. I looked over my shoulder and Fanquin smiled at me but there was something off about his smile.

“Dinner’s at eight. Please wear something decent.”

As Anna tugged me down a dark corridor I looked down at my plaid knee length skirt, thick black stockings, and simple black jersey. I then looked at Anna’s ankle length dress and wondered at everything I had experienced since coming here. But I especially wondered why this house was so silent if it was a boarding house. Was everyone at work? Or was I the first boarder?

If only that had been the truth.



The school day went by slowly as always but as I made my way back home my slouched shoulders straightened, something tugged the corners of my mouth upwards and my pace was lighter and faster.

Home. After living in it for a year I felt entitled, even comfortable calling it that. But then my fragile smile broke as my hand came to rest on the wrought iron gate. How would the atmosphere be after last night’s…situation? Feeling a slight trepidation, a nervous fluttering of my heart, I pushed the gate open and stepped inside the yard. Old Sam, our gardener, waved at me from the bushes near the far fence and I waved back, selfishly happy that I was the only one he ever greeted. He carried on with his trimming and I made my way into the house feeling that odd shiver run though me as I stepped over the threshold.

I stepped on something slick and nearly lost my balance, clutching onto the hat stand for balance. Had something been spilled here? In wintertime it was so dark in the reception even during the day and I was forced to fumble on the nearby side table for matches and a candle which was a blurry white shape in the dark. I struck the match and it flared into life, casting a brief light on my surroundings. I lit the candle wick and looked down, striving to find out what I had slipped on. I nearly dropped the candle in shock as my mouth went slack and my mind cast about feverishly for answers.

My eyes moved of their own volition landing on the dark slumped form on the ground before me. Massive shoulders heaved up and down in ragged breaths, dark fur coated in a slick of blood and sweat.

“Max?” my breath rasped in my throat burning on its way out. What had happened to him?!

His head lifted at the sound of my voice and I fell back against the door. Blood matted the fur around his mouth and his lips lifted into a snarl. A gust of wind suddenly swept up from nowhere and I struggled to protect the candle’s flame but to no avail. With a wink of smoke it went out throwing me back into near total darkness. I screamed and heard running feet coming towards me. Suddenly a candle was thrust up into my face and my face was gripped by cool soft hands. I looked up into Selene’s grey eyes usually mad with fear but now calm and searching. My breathing slowed.

“My dear,” she began pushing back my black tangled hair from my face. “What’s the matter?”

Had she not seen it? Had she somehow jumped over him in her haste? That would be impossi−
But when I peered over her shoulder Max was gone, or at least the vision of him for that was what it surely was. I stood up shakily and Selene let me lean on her as we made our way to the kitchen. I looked back at where he had lain, feeling a shiver of premonition pass over me; I could still smell his blood.