Dead men spread no rumours

Chapter 2

 I have lived here since my mother moved from London to the outskirts of Theretford, six months ago. We needed a break, live was too fast paced and stressful. Thus our change of scene. Our house is at the end of town next to the police station with a gorgeous view of the English fields of wild flowers. The town has welcomed my mother and I well, mostly. Ellie, the owner of the general store baked us an apple pie when we moved in helped us re-post out fence. She frequently visits us to give is some new seedlings for the veggie garden or homemade recipes.

However, our presence hasn't been accepted by all members of the small community. In an old wooden house a few doors down with peeling paint and an old rusted out car on the verge lives Cecil. An old sour man with stringy white hair, a mouth turned down at the creases and bright blue eye capable of delivering a stare that makes you wish you didn't get out of bed that morning. He never leaves his house, he never interacts with others and he hates change. Instead he sits in his velvet green armchair placed in his front room and watches people go about their business.

The local police Sargent Mordecai warned me about him. "Never go on his property, never make eye contact with him and keep out of trouble. Cecil loves a reason for causing drama here." He looked me up and down then podded back to the station down the unsealed road. Mordecai was your typical, solid doughnut loving cop, double chin and all. His black piggy eyes appeared out of proportion to the rest of his head. His attempts at a goatee dirtied his chin with a patch of black hair similar to the wispy, comb over he styled on his head. Mordecai was an interesting fellow. He took his job so seriously I hadn't seen him in anything other than his uniform. When not addressing others in relation to the law or possible issue in the town he is quite reserved, keeping to himself and reading the police records.