The Legend of the Lonely Cottage

The cold winter of 1993 was a tough one. The wind thrashed through the trees at alarming speeds and the once soft snow had sharpened in its descent, causing a blizzard of splintery barbs to fall, harming anyone in its path.

The small cottage stood alone, abandoned and abused. It was deserted, for the moment at least. No-one really knew it was there. In the village of Trudgehall, the people were aware but hardly informed; which made the abode a perfect hideout. A perfect escape.

Tall trees and impenetrable woodland bordered the cottage from the village and fenced it from the real world. A stream that was shallow enough to walk through, but deep enough to hide things in, snaked its way through the condensed growth of nature, skimming all the way up to the far side of the cottage, barely allowing the cottage room to breathe.

The sky, under the thick natural prison, always seemed darker than the sky of the village or the sky of the outside world; and the air that circled the area always seemed stouter than the outside atmospheres.

However, this small, humble abode was alas not unused; in fact during this narrative, someone had quickly approached and was now opening the rotten door to the dark secrets inside.

The glimpse any outsider would have witnessed was the brown scraggly hair of a person, that without the facial features of said being, you wouldn’t be able to tell what sex nor age the person was. It was hardly washed or combed nevertheless, so most would probably stereotype the person as poor.

What an outsider would have noticed nonetheless was the glinting carving knife clutched in the hand of said person. It shone pathetically under the dim light, reflecting the danger of such a common household tool. The spotting of such an object however, was always rudely cut off by the quick slam of the rotten door.

*

Amy Mitchell was always one to gossip and her favourite topic was of the lonely cottage. She’d make up stories that children had disappeared within it and that there were ghosts that haunted the habitat. She was the notorious babysitter that every child hated and every parent loved. She was, however, the one who noticed when things around the cottage started to get even more unusual than normal.

As mentioned before, the residents of Trudgehall were always aware but hardly informed; so although there was more activity surrounding the odd cottage, ‘nothing was to become of such nonsense’, quoted Barbra Wain to small Millie Tilly, the unfortunate soul who had Amy Mitchell babysitting her that night. The poor girl had had a sleepless night after Amy had elaborately explained the murders that took place in the tiny, abandoned cottage. After crying to her disapproving mum, she sought refuge with Barbra Wain, the local primary school’s head mistress. After being told that Amy was just making up stories, little Millie was sent forth into the world with such vivid images of the cottage that she vowed never to enter the woods herself.

Amy Mitchell was a right little minx that lived in a world of imaginary stories and imaginary friends. Nobody really liked the 16 year old girl. Nevertheless, she was the only one who ever came close to the truth that lied within the depths of the putrid, lonesome cottage.

*

Sandra Tilly was a lonely woman. Her husband had died over ten years ago of natural causes and she has never forgotten the pain she felt. Her only daughter little Millie was her love and joy, but so was her love of the woods. She knew about the cottage; however, so did everyone in the village. Every day she would venture into the woods to search for anything that would make her happy, and every day she brought back a fresh bunch of flowers-different for every day of the week. She would always come back from the woods ecstatic and this is why little Millie never minded when Amy Mitchell came and babysat her every day for three hours after school. If it made her mother happy, she would put up with it.