The House On The Cliff

Now - Tina

Tina stood at the edge of the cliff, hair whipping about her face in the wind, which stabbed at her face like ice.

The rain felt hard, like bullets on her skin, and it soaked through her cardigan. She was the first one there, she could sense it. The emptiness of the house at the top of the cliff, the windows dark, like never-ending black holes.

She found herself wondering why she had even come. She would probably be the only one. She knew that Steve Andrews, the local police officer, had contacted all of them, and he hadn't told them why, but she could guess.

Her heart started drumming against her ribs, and she had to work hard to suck in enough air. She turned away from the building, it's walls bare and dirty. One of the windows on the bottom floor was boarded up with planks of wood, and she felt a tug at her heart.

She looked out, instead to the sea, the grey waters crashing at rocky cliff walls, some of the salty water spraying up and landing on her lip.

It had been so long since they had been here. Back then, in the summer of two-thousand-and-nine, when they had been eighteen, young and excited by everything, they had never felt happier. All six of them. She took a deep breath. All six of them.

She remembered Hannah, with her long, blonde hair down to her waist, her wide green eyes, filled with a child-like wonder. Everything was fascinating to her, everything a learning curve, and she was happy to learn. Tina imagined the sand, butter yellow and damp, the sea sparkling blue, the tide out. She recalled the sun shining, a huge, orange ball accompanying them on their days at the beach. Hannah with her bright blue bikini and sarong. She had been a free spirit. Tina wondered what she was like now.

And Harry, with his glasses and light brown hair, a useless fact for every day of the summer, just in case they weren't learning enough on their break from university. Tina had begun to feel irritated by it by the end of the break, but now she missed it.

Paul and Maisy. She wondered whether they were still a couple. Whether they had children, a dog. They had always been perfect, the perfect couple. The rest of them would base their relationship choices on Paul and Maisy. If the guy wasn't as considerate and as kind as Paul was then the girls broke up with them. If the girl wasn't as sexy and as smart as Maisy, they went.

A gust of wind howled at her, bringing a fresh spray of sea water and rain into her face. Her nose and lips were numb, her cheeks felt swollen with cold.

Pulling her cardigan around herself, though it was useless since it was soaked, Tina slowly made her way up the path, the house growing bigger and bigger the closer she got. The steps were crumbling; she swore as the bottom step gave way beneath her foot and she caught her knee on the next one.

She pulled out her phone to text a warning to the others, growling under her breath at the lack of signal, stuffing it back into her pocket. She would just have to hope that nobody would hurt themselves.

She wondered, as she approached the door, the knocker coated with a layer of rust and mould, why she had chosen this particular house again. There were plenty of guest houses and hotels in the nearby village. Something had drawn her back here. It had seemed right.

Digging in her handbag for the key, she felt her fingers close around it, and a sense of foreboding close around her heart. She pushed the key into the lock, having to try a few times, since that was also rusty, and felt the door give way as she turned the handle, her heart beating like a jackhammer against her chest.

Almost everything was covered in white sheets, and the things that weren't were coated with a thick layer of grey dust. Instinctively, Tina put her hand over her mouth.

It was as though nothing had changed, apart from the sheets. She peeked beneath a few, confirming her suspicions that everything was exactly as they had left it.

The visitors' book was in its' usual place, beside the phone, which she was sure was no longer in action. She ran a finger down the red cover, the leather hard once the dust was gone. She turned the pages, smiling at little notes of happiness, families detailing their daily activities, and the benefit of a cot and a high chair.

Beside it was the sign in book. Mrs. Marshall, the owner of the house, had insisted that they all sign the book upon arrival and then sign out when they left. She flicked through it, wondering how many people had visited since they had.

Her eyes fell to the last entry in the book, and she frowned, pressing her fingers against the bumps left by the pen. She was the last entry.

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