DIRT
Beeston Care Home, Nottingham
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Even from the car park, the nursing home looked oppressive; the kind of building you knew would be far too hot inside. Sian wandered in, signing as Marilyn Monroe in the book at the door and then letting herself through with the same security code as the last time she’d visited. It was early evening and, as she walked through the corridors, she could hear a woman screaming. It sounded like the poor soul was being tortured.
The care home was dark and empty. The shouts of the woman were getting louder and Sian felt her stomach contract. She was having a visceral reaction to the place, and it made her swallow and hesitate, thinking weird thoughts about the kinds of things she didn’t believe in. Then she was at Jack’s door, looking at his picture
