Iris grumbled as she walked down the road to Mr Baxter's farm. Her mother had baked a cake for her to give to the old war veteran. War hero he may be but Iris still didn't like him, he was always grumpy and the stump he had for a left leg sent a shiver up her spine. As she edged her way around the lake like puddles and trees that seemed to grab at her Iris noticed the silence. Mr Baxter was always shouting, whether it was at the television, roaring at his cat or bellowing at the local people, and he never slept as he was always woken by his night terrors from the war. The young girl looked through the murky window to see the timeworn man asleep in his battered rocking chair, his vicious cat curled up quietly on his lap. Iris banged on the door. The man didn't wake up. She hammered the window but the veteran didn't stir. Iris new something was wrong. She picked up the key from under Mr Baxter's muddy welcome mat and ran into the house. "Mr Baxter?" Iris asked, his cat clawed at her and jumped of his lap. She shook the old man, he was stone cold, his tea was no longer hot and the butter on his scone was congealed. Iris grabbed his out-dated phone and called an ambulance.
Blue lights flashed as Iris was pushed back by police and paramedics. She grabbed a police man, "What's happened?" she inquired. The fat, bald man bent down, putting his hand on the girl's shoulder, "Mr Baxter has moved house to heaven." The man said in a patronising voice making Iris feel small and young. "How?" Iris inquired but the man was already gone munching on the remains of her mother's cake.
