The House

Chapter 17 - Day 2: The Beach

The recipe for making it until tomorrow is simple. Be busy.

I resume cleaning all my dirty footprints throughout the house; I wash all the dishes I've used and propping one of my sketch pads against the canvas on an easel, I draw the outlines of a vague idea. 

I even wash the maggot clothing still soaking in the tub from yesterday!

There's a dilapidated structure containing clotheslines in a sunny patch just outside the kitchen door. After hanging my laundry up to dry, I decide that I need a break from the house and the obnoxious ticking of the clocks.

One of the images Craig sent me gives me a rough idea of where to find the beach by using a somewhat overgrown path set between the pond and the orchard.

I can see the stone boy in the middle of the pond, much clearer now that I'm outside. There aren't dark holes where his eyes should be; they're just covered with blackened moss. Most of his body is covered with layer upon layer of the stuff. Some layers are still alive and green. 

Just how old is this house?

The path opens up on an unexpected clearing that drops down to a beach below. The drop is high enough for me to break many bones, if not my neck, should I sleep-walk out here and fall over the edge. The idea makes me shiver. 

There might be a path leading down to the pretty little cove, but I cannot find it in the jungle of wild foliage and boulders. The view is lovely, though. Deep blue water, foaming breakers, white sand, dark cliffs. Gorgeous. On the horizon, the sky meets the sea and becomes one with it.

There's a weathered stone bench set near the edge. I plant myself on it. Nothing like a beautiful view and a sea breeze in one's hair to clear the mind and soothe the soul.

What's happened that is so bad? Really? 

So, the clocks are acting up. Did Ron even spend enough time with them to be able to know that they go off at random intervals? No, probably not. It doesn't seem as though he does all that much to maintain the house. He probably only spends a couple of hours here at a time. He might have missed their joyous noise completely.

Yes, I apparently walked in my sleep and discovered the key to the cellar. It might have happened in exactly the same way as it did today. Unconscious Belle, let's call her Luna, might have felt the same desire to reunite the lonely lovers.

My curiosity about the Matryoshka doll, combined with all the strange sounds and smells and happenings, might have prompted me to sleepwalk and to do things I wouldn't normally just do.

Sure, sounds reasonable. Nothing to be alarmed about. No need to be scared. No need to rush home. Just enjoy the tranquillity of the sea view. Breathe in, breathe out...

The wind has picked up and is no longer a pleasant sea breeze, it is trying to blow me off the cliff, and it has a cold bite to it. The sun is no longer hovering in the blue sky; it is gone. The evening has come and gone; dusk is bathing the world in shadows.

Did I fall asleep on the bench?

I look toward where I'd last seen the sun and turn my head to where it would have set. That distance would normally take the sun a couple of hours to cover, wouldn't it? I must have dozed off. I don't remember dozing off. Well, nobody ever remembers the act of dozing off, but I don't remember the act of waking up, either. My feet are icy in my flip-flops.

"You dozed off. That's all."

I do sometimes become lost in thought for hours, but I usually remember thinking about things. Don't think about this. It's as simple as that. Get back into the house, get some food, and have some coffee. Wait out the night.