✔ | PAINTED IN CRIMSON | T. SHARPE

SIX | CRIMSON PEAK

 ❝Strange things did happen here. ❞

───────

SIX |  CRIMSON PEAK

I actually didn't sleep that night. I stayed in bed, staring at the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city, remembering and comparing them to the silence of the countryside, except for all the creaking, moaning and the lullabies in the middle of the night in the old house.

When the clock struck five in the morning, I got up and got into the shower. The water ran making its way down my aching and bruised body, I would have loved to stay in longer than five minutes but I wanted to leave as early as possible to get there before midday.

After getting dressed and getting rid of the bandage on my finger, I got a backpack with some stuff. The piece of wood on my vanity made me stop right before opening the door. I walked towards it and took the hand-carved rocking-horse in my hands, I still had it. My thumb stroked the horse's neck as the flashback came to my head again.

Me, standing by a table with tools and toys and a blue-eyed man placing it in my hands.

I shook my head to get back to what I had to do. At those hours Josh was still in bed so I left him a note on the kitchen counter telling him that I had to go back there to finish the book and that probably he was right in the sleepwalking thing, that way he wasn't going to bother me.

During the entire trip, I battled to get rid of fear. I didn't want to go into the house and get attacked by a ghost again let alone be murdered but, I was on my way to the haunted house anyway. When I arrived at Cumbria, I stopped at a small and old café to get my thoughts together and eat something of course, I hadn't eaten anything since the day before. I got the brilliant idea of asking the guy who brought me a slice of pie, if he knew something about the old house. He placed the pie onto the table and I began:

"Oh goodness," he smiled, "this looks delicious! Can you bring me another slice for later? I know my friend would love this." I lied, trying to create a connection with the waiter.

"Sure," he said and with that he disappeared through the door to the kitchen. I began to eat and sip from my coffee as I waited. The café wasn't as full as one in London would have been at those hours, there were just two people apart from me, an old man in the corner by the window and a woman scribbling in a notebook in the table next to mine.

A few minutes had passed when the guy -that looked not older than twenty years- showed up again and placed the pie onto the table inside a funny small box, I looked up at him and tried to make a conversation before asking what I really wanted to know, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. It is is, indeed," he rubbed his hands with the apron, "actually, these might be the last few days we have with a little bit of sun," he sighed, "winters over here are very severe, it turns into a gigantic freezer and it's worse in the highlands."

"I can only imagine it," enough chit-chat, "Sorry, can I ask you something?" He gave me a smile and a nod, "I'm obviously an outsider and I don't quite know like anything about this place . . . so, I've heard some stories about the old house on the hill . . . do you, know what is it about?" His lips parted, but hesitated to speak, he looked at his watch and then at the counter where an old lady was at, reading a book.

"I'm sorry . . . I don't know anything about that," he said softly, "can I help you with anything else?"

"Uh, no . . . thanks, I guess. I'll need the bill, then, please." He nodded and left again. I gulped the rest of my coffee and waited for the bill. The guy walked towards my table again and with a swift move he placed the bill by the empty cup and left without saying a word, "Thanks," I muttered under my breath and rummaged into my bag for my wallet. I put the money on the table and stood up, that's when I saw another piece of paper under the actual bill with a note scribbled on it: Meet me in the alley.