The Montgomery House

Four

Lilah

Lacing up her running shoes, Lilah stepped out into the cool, crisp morning air; taking a deep breath, she listened contently to the birds as they signalled the arrival of the coming day.

She'd lived in the small town of Hollifield on the Northumberland border for the better part of three years now, but she'd yet to grow accustomed to the slower pace of life or the quiet.

She'd loved living in the city, the endless hustle and bustle, and the thriving nightlife of the big smoke had enchanted her throughout her early twenties, but eventually, as the years dragged on and she'd edged closer to her thirties, she'd yielded to the uncomfortable realisation that the pressures and stresses of city life just weren't what she wanted for herself long-term.

Breaking off her budding relationship with Matt the IT guy from her previous job, Lilah packed up her life, sold her sought-after apartment, stuck a pin in a map and within a week set off in search of her new adventure. Her doting father, an eccentric English professor had thought she was mad, but he'd supported her anyway and it remained to this day one of the best things she'd ever done. 

Finishing up her warm-up, Lilah pushed through the familiar feeling of homesickness and guilt that weighed on her whenever she thought of her father alone in his cottage at the other end of the country. 

Already panting from the physical exertion Lilah set off at a gentle pace; jogging her way up the street, she silently bribed herself into putting in 45 minutes of tedious exercise. Just 45 minutes and then she'd treat herself to a warm cup of tea and then maybe even a pastry from Joe's bakery in the centre of town. After all, what was the point in torturing herself daily if she couldn't enjoy the occasional vice? Spotting the outline of Miriam Grant's old place, she started to cross the street, the memory of the last time she'd seen the pretty front garden and pale blue door, turned her blood-cold as she struggled the ignore the rising nausea the sight of the front of the house always brought her.

It had been cold that dreadful morning, so cold that she'd almost talked herself out of her morning run so that she could stay in bed for another hour before she had to get ready for work. But hard-built discipline had her rolling out of bed and venturing out to face the day. 

She usually ran with her head down and earphones on but in her haste to follow through with her daily routine, she'd neglected to pick her them up off her bedside table. At the time she'd been grateful for her forgetfulness, but in the weeks that followed, when the nightmares made it impossible for her to get any sleep she'd selfishly wished she'd remembered to reach for her earphones on the way out the door.

She'd never know what urged her to slow her pace and take a good look at the house that day. Her hazel eyes had immediately taken in the drawn curtains and the pile of newspapers and unopened letters sticking out of the cast iron mailbox, mounted on the wall next to the front door.

Immediately concerned as it was unlike Mrs Grant to still be in bed, even at this unsociable hour, let alone to leave her mail to pile up. Neat as a pin, she'd never known the woman in the year that she'd been her acquaintance, to leave a single thing out of place. Ruthless with a broom and mop, she spent her days isolated within her home, attacking imaginary pockets of dust and stains. Truthfully Lilah had always come away from Miriam Grant's house feeling entirely inadequate and a little ashamed of her sloppy housework regime.

Nevertheless, she persevered and with the guidance of a local charity which helped the elderly and disabled members of the Hollifield community, she began to build a relationship with the stubborn and prickly Miriam Grant. Cold and aloof the bitter woman of 63 had eventually succumbed to Lilah's charm and accepted her help and eventual friendship and so once a week for the past year Lilah ventured out to the shops with Mrs Grant's exacting shopping list, returning an hour later with her groceries. Some weeks she'd been rewarded with a cup of tea and a kind word or two, others she'd been ushered out of the door as soon as she'd finished unpacking. But it had left her feeling a sense of duty towards the woman, a sense of duty she found impossible to ignore once the ball of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. 

She hadn't noticed that her hands shook, as she dug her keys from her jacket pocket. Too preoccupied with delaying the panic that constricted her throat and lungs, she moved slowly towards the front door. Praying that her instincts were wrong and that Mrs Grant had finally taken her advice and relaxed for a few days, Lilah reached for the brass ornamental butterfly knocker which she had always admired. Rapping three times, she listened attentively for any sign of movement. 

"Mrs Grant?..." Hearing nothing behind the calm facade of the terrace house's exterior, Lilah swallowed the lump which had formed in her throat. Promising herself that she'd buy her a bouquet if she accidentally walked in on her in the bath or something, Lilah steeled herself and unlocked the door. 

It was the smell that hit her first, a mixture of rotting flesh, decay and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on, had her eyes watering and stomach-turning before she'd even stepped through the door. Covering her nose and mouth with her jacket sleeve, she crossed herself and said a silent prayer before entering the house. 

It didn't take her long to find Miriam,  broken in a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs, it was a sight Lilah wasn't likely ever to forget. Dead for three days before anyone found her, the coroner eventually ruled it an accident and released her body to the family for burial. 

She'd been avoiding the front of the house ever since. 

Halfway across the street, she stopped, her attention caught by the faint glow of light visible through the living room window. 

Must be the son she thought, surprised by both the expected pity and the flicker of annoyance she felt on Miriam's behalf. Privy to women's family dynamics, Lilah caught herself experiencing a looming sense of dread at the idea of this perfect stranger picking through Miriam's things like a vulture. 

Before she could ruminate much further, the sharp toot of Mr Ross's impatient horn pulled her away from her silent contemplation. Conscious of the fact she was stood in the middle of the narrow road, effectively blocking what little traffic there at this time in the morning, Lilah saluted the irate Mr Ross apologetically as he leaned out of his car window to shout at her about daydreaming in the middle of the road and moved out of the way. 

Finishing the short journey across the road, Lilah stopped once more to survey the house, much like the last time she'd studied the exterior she saw no movement, but unlike last time aside from a few lingering puddles on the scarred path leading to the front door, the exterior remained immaculate. 

With time ticking on, Lilah gave herself a little shake and set back off at her leisurely pace. 

***

Four hours later she was letting herself in through the back door. She wasn't snooping she argued as she eyeballed the pristine kitchen, she was just being neighbourly. Lifting the groceries she'd bought as an excuse to come around and let herself in, Lilah listened for any sign of the house's newest occupant. Hearing nothing more than the gentle rhythmic ticking of the clock mounted above the kitchen door, Lilah resolved herself to put the groceries away and then hunt down her newest neighbour. 

Content in her surroundings, she hummed under her breath as she placed milk, orange juice and bacon in the fridge and bread counter, it wasn't much but at least whoever resided in this house now, would be able to eat a decent breakfast. 

Lost in her world as she sorted and stacked the remaining groceries, she didn't hear Jackson sneaking down the stairs, she wasn't aware of him at all until he came barrelling through the kitchen door, wielding a fluffy pink slipper as a weapon.