Jimmy was freezing. He was standing under a huge oak tree, trying to shelter from the bitter wind, as it tried to take bites out of his face with every gust. He rubbed his eyes, in an effort to stop the stinging sensation, and to remove another layer of film, as his tears ducts seemed to be working overtime in a constant battle against the elements.
Inside his black leather cowboy
boots, even the white fur lining wasn't preventing his toes from going numb.
Frustrated, he stamped his feet in an effort to keep them warm, and at the same time he blew hot air into his cupped hands, inhaling the warmth up his nose, and savouring the smells of his earlier fish and chip supper.
The road before him was quiet, with the exception of an odd car leaving Inverness and heading out to one of the distant villages, Beauly, Dingwall and Muir of Ord to name a few.
Jimmy had been standing under his shelter for nearly two hours, and he knew it was time to make his move. The house he'd been keeping an eye on had been in darkness for most of the time he'd stood there, but he'd wanted to be as certain as possible that the occupiers had retired for the night, before he attempted to gain entry.
The building was normally alarmed to the hilt, and he'd been told that three guard dogs patrolled the grounds. Jimmy hated dogs, and the feeling was always vice versa. He particularly detested big dogs, and rumour had it that the three canine monsters inside the ten feet walls of Galbraith Lodge were either Dobermans, or Rottweilers.
Jimmy patted his jacket pocket, making sure the lumps of meat he'd bought from the grocers earlier were still secure. He hoped that if he did have the misfortune to come face to face with the dogs, then maybe he'd be able to bribe them into not eating him, although deep down, Jimmy was praying the dogs would be too cold to venture outside of their kennels, and he could slip in and out of the grounds undetected.
A solitary dark vehicle sped past, briefly illuminating where Jimmy stood. Sinking further back into the shadows, he waited until the car was out of sight before he reappeared and trotted across the road.
Standing beside the wall, it looked much taller than he'd imagined, and he worried his rope might not be long enough for his purpose.
Cursing his stupidity for not doing a proper reconnaissance of the area he nevertheless pulled it out, and tossed it over the wall.
A muffled thud filled the night air as the grappling hook on the end, wrapped in several socks made contact with the wall.
Jimmy waited, listening intently for the sound of barking dogs or an alarm coming from the house. Hearing nothing he pulled on the rope until he was satisfied it would hold his weight, and then he started to climb up and over the wall.
Landing quietly in the damp grass, he squatted low, allowing his eyesight to become accustomed to the darkness. Outside, he'd had the streetlights, or the odd vehicle to aid his vision. Behind the walls of the Lodge, the night enveloped him like a dark cloak.
The only sounds he could hear were his own breathing, and the rustling of the trees as the wind continued to batter all before it. The garden had dozens of large bushes, ornate plants, trees and several huge concrete statues of ancient God's and Goddesses dotted all over the grounds. This would provide Jimmy with helpful stepping stones leading up to the windows of the Lodge when he decided it was time to go.
In the distance a dog barked. Jimmy felt his heart crash against his ribcage, and he held his breath while he waited to see if he was going to come face to face with his worst nightmare.
After a few minutes, that felt like hours to Jimmy, he decided that the barking dog lived at another house, and it was safe for him to venture forward.
Taking his time, and making sure he didn't trip over anything, he crept across the lawn, keeping as low to the ground as he could without having to crawl.
The distance closed quickly, and within minutes he found himself squatting under a large window, with his back resting against the brickwork of the Lodge. He removed a small torch from another pocket and slowly shone it around him, checking he was alone. The beam was no wider than a penlight as he'd stuck black masking tape over most of the bulb to prevent too much light giving him away.
Satisfied he could move, he stood up, turned around and aimed the beam into the window, trying to shine it through a slit between the heavy curtains that had been pulled closed before the occupiers of the Lodge had retired for the night.
Jimmy tried to lift the window, it came as no surprise to find it was locked. From under his right sock, he slipped out a crowbar and started to work away at the wood. He kept muttering quietly over and over that the alarm wouldn't be connected to this part of the building. He'd paid good money for this piece of information. And was thankful Mrs. MacDonald still worked a couple of hours a week for Douglas Galbraith.
After what seemed an age, the window latch popped open, and Jimmy was able to slide the frame up just enough to enable him to climb inside. Once there, he closed the window behind him, flicked his torch on, and surveyed the scene before him.
Everything in the room shouted wealth, and although he was no art expert, he knew that the dozen or so paintings hanging on the walls were genuine masterpieces, and worth a small fortune. The furniture was bigger than anything he'd ever seen. A solitary reclining chair looked like it could double up as a bed. A burgundy corner suite had cushions at least two feet thick piled high on it, and Jimmy counted five highly lacquered coffee tables placed at regular intervals, each topped with an array of different fruits or multi coloured hard boiled sweets piled high on silver trays.
As he started to cross the room, he could feel his feet sinking into the thick pile of the carpet. It was like walking barefoot along a sandy beach.
Jimmy hesitated beside a tall drinks cabinet. He counted fifteen decanters, each filled with various drinks. He risked pulling the top off the nearest one, and smiled as the aroma of whiskey tickled his senses. Cheekily, he lifted the decanter to his lips and took a long slug of the fiery liquid, regretting it instantly, as his throat burned, and he had to cough into his hand, hoping to stifle the sound.
A grandfather clock chimed behind him, and Jimmy jumped with fright. His senses raced, and briefly he felt dizzy. Pulling himself together, he took several long deep breaths, and then he replaced the decanter.
Opening the door, he found himself standing in a huge hallway, big enough for a game of football, or to hold one of the many local dances. The floor shone under his torchlight, and he was careful not to slide as he took small steps forward until he reached the carpeted stairs.
Mrs. MacDonald, had given him good directions from his entry point up to the master bedroom where Douglas Galbraith slept. If he was quiet, if he held his nerve, if his luck held out, then maybe, just maybe, Jimmy would be the one to make the mysteries of Dovecot manor public once and for all.
YOU ARE READING
Lost Souls
Художественная прозаA family move into an old Mansion in the Highlands of Scotland unaware of the buildings terrible secrets. One of the children is particularly aware something is vastly wrong with the families new home.
