Elm Brook Manor

Coby leaned to the side, his eyes scanning the length of the line, taking in the bustling scene of eager readers. His stature was neither imposing nor insignificant, standing at an even 5'11". Yet it was his undeniable aura that drew eyes towards him. A crown of tousled dark hair sat upon his head, a hint of silver streaks peppered at his temples. He exhaled softly, a sense of relief washing over him, like a gentle breeze on a warm summer day. His Scottish accent gave each word he spoke a comforting and captivating quality, like a beautiful melody. Only three more people stood before him, their presence a reminder of his impending task. With a stroke of his chin, he mulled over the words he would write when he finally signed the book. Ideas had eluded him for some time now, leaving him feeling a sense of emptiness. Yet, he took solace in the fact that he had sold all his books, with the empty boxes standing as a testament to his success. A flicker of annoyance crossed his expressive face, the lines around his eyes deepening as he remembered his wife’s promise to bring more boxes, a promise left unfulfilled. The mall buzzed with activity, a symphony of voices and footsteps creating a vibrant backdrop. Bargain seekers rushed from store to store, their presence akin to an avalanche of humanity descending on the shops. In an effort to maintain order, the shop assistant had closed the doors of the bookstore, shielding Coby from the clamour outside. Lost in his thoughts, Coby’s keen gaze remained fixed on the book before him, oblivious to the curious onlookers peering through the windows. Some of them contorted their faces and hurled insults, their words bouncing off him like pebbles hitting a shield. The sound of their jeers filled the air as they called him “Scrooge,” a mocking reference to his wealth and tightfisted ways. Coby inhaled deeply, his senses tingling with anticipation. The taste of whisky lingered on his tongue, its rich, woody notes intertwining with his thoughts. Finally, he found the words he sought. With deliberate movements, he wrote, ‘Dear Christie, Happy reading,’ signing it with the initials M. Jones. As each person in line received their signed book, the line gradually dwindled until only one remained. A fiery redheaded girl, her determination etched on her face, abruptly slammed a book down in front of Coby, startling him. Nerves tinged his voice as he asked, “Who should I make it out to?” The girl’s eyes blazed with fury as she spat out the name, “Gordon Snape!” Recognition flashed in Coby’s eyes, sending a shiver down his spine. In an instant, the veil of time lifted, transporting him back to a haunted house. The echoes of laughter and the scent of death filled his senses. The flashback was so vivid, so real, that his present surroundings felt like a mere dream in comparison. “Mister Jones!” snapped the young girl, her voice sharp and piercing, cutting through the quiet of the bookstore. Her eyes bore into him with intensity, fixing him with a gaze that seemed to penetrate his very soul. The fury in her expression snapped Coby out of his daydream, causing him to jump slightly in surprise. Without wasting a moment, he hastily picked up the pen and signed the book. His hand trembled slightly as he scrawled his name. ‘Dear Gordon,’ he began, ‘I hope you find comfort in the pages of this book. My deepest sympathy, M. Jones.’ As Coby closed the cover shut with a soft thud, a sense of reluctance washed over him, as if the book held the key to his own redemption. The faint scent of aged paper and ink mingled in the air, reminding him of the countless stories trapped within those pages. The fiery red of the girl’s hair stood out vividly against the dimly lit backdrop of the bookstore, adding a touch of vibrancy to the scene. With determination, she clutched the book tightly, her fingers curling around the cover as she snatched it from his grasp. Before she left, her disdainful gaze lingered on him, a silent reminder of the pain and regret he carried within him. His reputation as a 'Scrooge' seemed to weigh even heavier on him in that moment, a stark contrast to the joy and success of his book signing event. In that moment, his past surged back to haunt him, a familiar feeling that seemed to never fade away. As the thick fog slowly unfurled over the misty Scottish moors, Coby McTavish wearily trudged back to his quaint stone cottage. The grey mist created an eerie ambiance, engulfing the surroundings in a haunting veil. Inside, the cottage emanated a comforting warmth, a beacon of solace amidst the encroaching gloaming. Waiting for him within was his wife, Elaine, a captivating presence whose beauty seemed as timeless as the rugged highlands themselves. Elaine was petite and delicate, with an air of frailty that belied her powerful spirit. Her auburn curls, soft and slightly wavy, framed her face perfectly, giving her an almost pixie-like appearance. Her eyes, a soft hazel, were large and expressive, holding a profound depth that was both comforting and mystifying to Coby. They spoke volumes of the understanding they shared, a silent testament to the years they spent entwined in their shared passion for weaving tales of the supernatural. Her laughter, like delicate wind-bells, often echoed through the cosy home, casting a melodic counterpoint to the eerie silence that enveloped their world. Yet today, something felt amiss. Coby’s unease heightened as he noticed the straw boater playfully perched on the side of Elaine’s head, accompanied by white opera gloves. The sight gave him a foreboding sensation, as if she were preparing for a journey. The scent of vintage perfume lingered in the air, adding a nostalgic touch. Coby’s gaze shifted to Elaine’s side, and there it was, her hand grasping the handle of a large suitcase. With a scoff, she lifted the suitcase and disappeared through the door, leaving Misty, her beloved Scoodle, behind. The proud canine stood poised, her hair adorned with a dainty pink ribbon, seemingly aware, or perhaps presuming, her regal lineage. “You forgot your dog!” Coby called out, his voice filled with concern. “It’s not a dog!” Elaine reminded him, her voice fading into the distance. The abrupt slam of a car door resonated through the foggy air as the engine roared to life, signalling her departure. Resigned and with his shoulders slumped, Coby ascended the creaking stairs, his weary feet dragging along the worn wooden floor. A chilly breeze slipped through the cracked window, causing him to shiver involuntarily. As he reached the top, his eyes caught sight of a small rock lying on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass. He picked up the rock and tossed it outside, patching the resulting hole with an old, threadbare woollen jersey, its warmth providing some solace amidst the growing cold. His eyes lingered on the pristine white envelope, its smooth surface reflecting the dim light of the room. Bearing only his first initial, C, for Coby, it exuded an air of mystery. With a mix of apprehension and curiosity, he tore the flap open, the sound of the paper tearing echoing in the stillness. Hastily unfolding the letter, he could almost feel the delicate texture of the paper between his fingertips. Coby hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, as he put the letter down beside his keyboard. Needing a moment to gather his courage, he fixed himself a double Scotch, the rich aroma of the liquor filling the air. With each sip, the warmth spread through his body, granting him the strength to face the cruel words that awaited him. As he finally brought the letter back into his line of sight, the first words leapt off the page... The letter was short and succinct, written in Elaine’s unmistakable handwriting. As he read her words, he could almost hear her voice in his head, dripping with an eerie malice. A mix of anger and sadness washed over him, causing him to crumple the letter in his hand until his knuckles turned white. In a moment of defiance, he tossed it into the hearth; the flames casting a golden glow on his face, making his eyes sparkle with determination. As the fiery tongues licked the side of the letter, a crackling sound filled the room, accompanied by the faint scent of burning paper. The flames devoured the contents of the letter, releasing rising embers into the air, a symbol of the remnants of their shattered relationship. Coby’s gaze locked with Misty’s, their eyes meeting in an intense moment. She panted heavily. The sound resembling a roaring locomotive as she lay next to the crackling fire. A thin smile formed on her lips, sending a shiver down his spine. It felt as if the black-coated creature took pleasure in his misfortune. Ignoring the dog, he shifted his focus back to the familiar sight of his keyboard, a source of comfort and peace. His fingers gently rested on the cool keys, his eyes fixed on the blank document before him. The story he had in his mind seemed to slip away, elusive. His thoughts kept drifting to the memory of the fiery young red-headed girl from the bookshop, her harsh words still stinging in his mind. He could almost feel her anger enveloping him, radiating hatred. Coby shivered and shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away. Like a scanner, his eyes swiftly scanned his emails until he spotted it. RE: ELM BROOK MANOR – PROPOSAL FOR SALE. Excitement surged through his veins, a newfound freedom energising him. With a decisive click of the reply button, he typed out his message, his fingers dancing across the keys. The offer he made contained enough zeros to make anyone’s jaw drop. After hitting send, he strained his ears and heard the satisfying swoosh sound, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Rubbing his hands together, he couldn’t help but shoot a mischievous glance at the dog, who observed his every move. “Who’s laughing now, eh?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.