Post by Hobbit-eyes on May 16, 2005 15:48:06 GMT -5
This is an extremely random story - bear with it, it takes a moment to pick up. Tell me what you think of it...
Hawthorne Dene
“Don’t forget, we’re not giving a card to Littlecroft this year,” Alex’s mum reminded her as she pulled on her coat and her scarf. “You remember what to do? Just turn right outside the drive, go up the road until Pantiles, go over to the other side of the street, along to Wester Ross, to the Thatchers’-”<br>
“Yes, mum, I’ve done this before.” Alex picked up the pile of ordered cards from the table and started to walk out the door, but was pulled into a hug before she could get very far.
“Be careful.”<br>
“I know, mum! It’s just along the road!”<br>
“Yes, but still, be careful crossing it-”<br>
Alex almost ran out of the door, pulling it closed behind her, and walked quickly down the drive. She shoved one hand into her pocket to protect from the biting winter breeze and pulled the other one, still holding the cards, into her sleeve.
The Christmas card run. One of the only Christmas traditions that Alex still enjoyed. Normally her older sister went with her, but she spent all her time on the internet nowadays, talking to some boy in Essex.
First stop, Littlecroft – oh, wait, no, they didn’t get a card this year. Alex wondered why. She knew her parents had never really got along with them, but they normally gave them a card. Oh well.
She walked on to Kenmare. Home of the little kids which she used to baby-sit for – or rather had baby-sat for once, but never got invited back. She guessed it was something to do with her telling little Angus all about her collection of swords, and Angus then demanding his own sword shortly afterwards.
Laetus. She hoped the people in there wouldn’t see her. They had two daughters about her age, but she hadn’t liked them ever since she went round and they played ‘catch’ with their hamster. She thought she saw someone moving around in the hallway, so she quickly put the letter through the box and walked quickly away, not looking back.
Then onto Pantiles. Oh no; this was the house with the dog. Tentatively, she lifted the letterbox flap; right on cue, an evil-sounding yapping exploded from behind the door. She heard scratching as the little terrier leapt up, trying to bite her hand. She hastily dropped it again, and took two steps back, breathing quickly. The yapping stopped, and was replaced by a low angry growling. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward again quietly, and, quickly as she could, opened the letter box and dropped the letter through, slamming it shut again and sprinting away down the drive as she heard the dog hurling itself at the door in anger.
Trying to calm down, she headed across the road to The Lodge. She hardly knew the people who lived here, except for the fact that they had an insanely small letter box. After a few moments’ struggle, she finally managed to squash it through, and continued on her way.
The Gables next. A very large, slightly over-the-top house across the street from her own house; whoever had built it had gone slightly overboard on roof beams and balconies. One of her favourite things about her street was how every one of the houses was different, as opposed to the streets around it, which were terraced and the same repeated design. Each house on Upper St Ann’s had an individual design.
Now onto Brabourne. Much to Alex’s dismay, she could actually see the people through the window. She crept up to the letter box, keeping low behind the hedge, and pushed it through the box, and turned to creep away again. Halfway down the path, she looked back and saw the old man who lived there watching her creeping away, with a puzzled expression on his face. Reddening rapidly, she waved, and scuttled away.
Back on the road, she looked at the cards. Next was Wester Ross, but that was over on the other side of the entrance to Athelstan Road. There was another house before then. Looking up at it, she saw the name over the door – Hawthorne Dene. Slightly confused, she looked through the remaining cards, but there were none for that address.
She suddenly remembered that she’d never delivered a card to this house. Why? Her parents knew practically everyone in Faversham. Maybe no-one lived there; no, the garden was too well-kept. But, come to think of it, she’d never seen anyone tending it. She had never seen anyone enter or leave, and no-one from there got invited to their Christmas parties. For a moment, she was tempted to go up and knock on the door. But then a cold breeze woke her up to the reality of the moment, and she hurried across the road to Wester Ross, eager to get back home.
She had already almost forgotten about Hawthorne Dene by the time she got home. She didn’t remember doing so, but actually she wondered about it every year, and always forgot about it by the time she got home. But just as she reached the front door, she felt a prickling on the back of her neck, and looked round. One of the curtains in Hawthorne Dene twitched, as though hurriedly dropped back into place.
That was why she remembered it this time.
That evening, she tried asking her parents individually about Hawthorne Dene. She cornered up to her mother while she was dusting the shelves in the kitchen.
“Mum, why don’t we give Hawthorne Dene a Christmas card?”<br>
“What’s that, dear?”<br>
“Hawthorne Dene. I know you don’t like Littlecroft because of the cats-”<br>
“It’s not because of the cats, dear. You wouldn’t understand, it’s an adult thing.”<br>
“Right. But why don’t we give them a Christmas card?”<br>
Her mother set down her duster. “Which house is Hawthorne Dene?”<br>
“The one next to Athelstan Road and Brabourne. With all the bushes outside.”<br>
Her mother looked thoughtful. “Can’t remember it very well. I suppose we’ve never made friends with the people who live there.” She smiled at Alex and picked up the duster and started polishing the work surface, as though she had already forgotten about the conversation.
Alex wasn’t so easily put off though. “Why?”<br>
“Why what, dear?”<br>
“Why haven’t we made friends with the people who live there?”<br>
“Live where, dear?”<br>
“Hawthorne Dene!”<br>
Her mother blinked. “Oh yes. Well, I don’t know. We must have had some reason though.”<br>
“Who lives there?”<br>
“Where?”<br>
“Hawthorne Dene!!”<br>
“No idea. Haven’t you got homework to do?”<br>
“This is the 21st century, mum, it’s considered a criminal offence to give students homework in the Christmas holidays. They just give you strong suggestions.” Her mother was already dusting busily again. She obviously wasn’t interested. Perhaps she had already forgotten again. Alex gave up and went back into the living room.
She watched mindless daytime TV until her dad came home. As soon as she heard his key in the lock, she sprung to her feet and ran to the front door and pulled it open.
“Hi Dad!” she beamed.
Her father looked slightly shocked. He still had the key in his hand, and normally when he came home he was greeted by a distracted, “Hi,” from the region of the sofa. “Hello Alex,” he said, burying his shock and smiling, stepping into the house and setting his briefcase on the ground, “Have a nice day?”<br>
“Yeah. Who lives at Hawthorne Dene?”<br>
“Where?”<br>
“The house between Brabourne and Athelstan Road.”<br>
“Where?”<br>
“There!” Alex pointed out of the door at the house. He looked at it for a moment, and blinked, as though only just seeing it.
“Oh. I don’t know.”<br>
Alex couldn’t believe this. “You’re a GP! I thought you knew everyone!”<br>
Her father laughed. “Oh, Alex, of course I don’t know everyone.”<br>
“Why didn’t we get to know them?”<br>
“Who?”<br>
“The people at Hawthorne Dene!”<br>
“Oh. No idea. I wouldn’t fret too much about it, Alex. It’s not important.”<br>
“It’s weird, though.”<br>
“Not everything weird is important.”<br>
“Of course it is. I’m going to go over there and find out.”<br>
“Alex, don’t go bothering people! I don’t know where you get your inquisitiveness from. Don’t forget, curiosity killed the cat.”<br>
“But it died satisfied.”<br>
“Why are you so bothered about this?”<br>
“I don’t know,” admitted Alex. She didn’t. In fact, she knew it wasn’t important. But she was interested, all the same. There were only two things she both loved and hated – caramel, and mysteries.
That night, before she went to bed, she looked out her window to Hawthorne Dene. There were no lights on in the windows, but there was smoke coming out of the chimney. So someone did live there, even if they didn’t seem to use electric lights. Or maybe their fuses had gone. Yes, that was probably it. It was probably someone completely normal who her parents hadn’t made friends with because they ran out of invitation cards to their housewarming party. Completely normal, she told herself. She nodded decisively, and went and got into bed, and turned off the light, and snuggled down under her duvet.
She chose to ignore the fact that the smoke coming out of the chimney was pink.
Hawthorne Dene
“Don’t forget, we’re not giving a card to Littlecroft this year,” Alex’s mum reminded her as she pulled on her coat and her scarf. “You remember what to do? Just turn right outside the drive, go up the road until Pantiles, go over to the other side of the street, along to Wester Ross, to the Thatchers’-”<br>
“Yes, mum, I’ve done this before.” Alex picked up the pile of ordered cards from the table and started to walk out the door, but was pulled into a hug before she could get very far.
“Be careful.”<br>
“I know, mum! It’s just along the road!”<br>
“Yes, but still, be careful crossing it-”<br>
Alex almost ran out of the door, pulling it closed behind her, and walked quickly down the drive. She shoved one hand into her pocket to protect from the biting winter breeze and pulled the other one, still holding the cards, into her sleeve.
The Christmas card run. One of the only Christmas traditions that Alex still enjoyed. Normally her older sister went with her, but she spent all her time on the internet nowadays, talking to some boy in Essex.
First stop, Littlecroft – oh, wait, no, they didn’t get a card this year. Alex wondered why. She knew her parents had never really got along with them, but they normally gave them a card. Oh well.
She walked on to Kenmare. Home of the little kids which she used to baby-sit for – or rather had baby-sat for once, but never got invited back. She guessed it was something to do with her telling little Angus all about her collection of swords, and Angus then demanding his own sword shortly afterwards.
Laetus. She hoped the people in there wouldn’t see her. They had two daughters about her age, but she hadn’t liked them ever since she went round and they played ‘catch’ with their hamster. She thought she saw someone moving around in the hallway, so she quickly put the letter through the box and walked quickly away, not looking back.
Then onto Pantiles. Oh no; this was the house with the dog. Tentatively, she lifted the letterbox flap; right on cue, an evil-sounding yapping exploded from behind the door. She heard scratching as the little terrier leapt up, trying to bite her hand. She hastily dropped it again, and took two steps back, breathing quickly. The yapping stopped, and was replaced by a low angry growling. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward again quietly, and, quickly as she could, opened the letter box and dropped the letter through, slamming it shut again and sprinting away down the drive as she heard the dog hurling itself at the door in anger.
Trying to calm down, she headed across the road to The Lodge. She hardly knew the people who lived here, except for the fact that they had an insanely small letter box. After a few moments’ struggle, she finally managed to squash it through, and continued on her way.
The Gables next. A very large, slightly over-the-top house across the street from her own house; whoever had built it had gone slightly overboard on roof beams and balconies. One of her favourite things about her street was how every one of the houses was different, as opposed to the streets around it, which were terraced and the same repeated design. Each house on Upper St Ann’s had an individual design.
Now onto Brabourne. Much to Alex’s dismay, she could actually see the people through the window. She crept up to the letter box, keeping low behind the hedge, and pushed it through the box, and turned to creep away again. Halfway down the path, she looked back and saw the old man who lived there watching her creeping away, with a puzzled expression on his face. Reddening rapidly, she waved, and scuttled away.
Back on the road, she looked at the cards. Next was Wester Ross, but that was over on the other side of the entrance to Athelstan Road. There was another house before then. Looking up at it, she saw the name over the door – Hawthorne Dene. Slightly confused, she looked through the remaining cards, but there were none for that address.
She suddenly remembered that she’d never delivered a card to this house. Why? Her parents knew practically everyone in Faversham. Maybe no-one lived there; no, the garden was too well-kept. But, come to think of it, she’d never seen anyone tending it. She had never seen anyone enter or leave, and no-one from there got invited to their Christmas parties. For a moment, she was tempted to go up and knock on the door. But then a cold breeze woke her up to the reality of the moment, and she hurried across the road to Wester Ross, eager to get back home.
She had already almost forgotten about Hawthorne Dene by the time she got home. She didn’t remember doing so, but actually she wondered about it every year, and always forgot about it by the time she got home. But just as she reached the front door, she felt a prickling on the back of her neck, and looked round. One of the curtains in Hawthorne Dene twitched, as though hurriedly dropped back into place.
That was why she remembered it this time.
That evening, she tried asking her parents individually about Hawthorne Dene. She cornered up to her mother while she was dusting the shelves in the kitchen.
“Mum, why don’t we give Hawthorne Dene a Christmas card?”<br>
“What’s that, dear?”<br>
“Hawthorne Dene. I know you don’t like Littlecroft because of the cats-”<br>
“It’s not because of the cats, dear. You wouldn’t understand, it’s an adult thing.”<br>
“Right. But why don’t we give them a Christmas card?”<br>
Her mother set down her duster. “Which house is Hawthorne Dene?”<br>
“The one next to Athelstan Road and Brabourne. With all the bushes outside.”<br>
Her mother looked thoughtful. “Can’t remember it very well. I suppose we’ve never made friends with the people who live there.” She smiled at Alex and picked up the duster and started polishing the work surface, as though she had already forgotten about the conversation.
Alex wasn’t so easily put off though. “Why?”<br>
“Why what, dear?”<br>
“Why haven’t we made friends with the people who live there?”<br>
“Live where, dear?”<br>
“Hawthorne Dene!”<br>
Her mother blinked. “Oh yes. Well, I don’t know. We must have had some reason though.”<br>
“Who lives there?”<br>
“Where?”<br>
“Hawthorne Dene!!”<br>
“No idea. Haven’t you got homework to do?”<br>
“This is the 21st century, mum, it’s considered a criminal offence to give students homework in the Christmas holidays. They just give you strong suggestions.” Her mother was already dusting busily again. She obviously wasn’t interested. Perhaps she had already forgotten again. Alex gave up and went back into the living room.
She watched mindless daytime TV until her dad came home. As soon as she heard his key in the lock, she sprung to her feet and ran to the front door and pulled it open.
“Hi Dad!” she beamed.
Her father looked slightly shocked. He still had the key in his hand, and normally when he came home he was greeted by a distracted, “Hi,” from the region of the sofa. “Hello Alex,” he said, burying his shock and smiling, stepping into the house and setting his briefcase on the ground, “Have a nice day?”<br>
“Yeah. Who lives at Hawthorne Dene?”<br>
“Where?”<br>
“The house between Brabourne and Athelstan Road.”<br>
“Where?”<br>
“There!” Alex pointed out of the door at the house. He looked at it for a moment, and blinked, as though only just seeing it.
“Oh. I don’t know.”<br>
Alex couldn’t believe this. “You’re a GP! I thought you knew everyone!”<br>
Her father laughed. “Oh, Alex, of course I don’t know everyone.”<br>
“Why didn’t we get to know them?”<br>
“Who?”<br>
“The people at Hawthorne Dene!”<br>
“Oh. No idea. I wouldn’t fret too much about it, Alex. It’s not important.”<br>
“It’s weird, though.”<br>
“Not everything weird is important.”<br>
“Of course it is. I’m going to go over there and find out.”<br>
“Alex, don’t go bothering people! I don’t know where you get your inquisitiveness from. Don’t forget, curiosity killed the cat.”<br>
“But it died satisfied.”<br>
“Why are you so bothered about this?”<br>
“I don’t know,” admitted Alex. She didn’t. In fact, she knew it wasn’t important. But she was interested, all the same. There were only two things she both loved and hated – caramel, and mysteries.
That night, before she went to bed, she looked out her window to Hawthorne Dene. There were no lights on in the windows, but there was smoke coming out of the chimney. So someone did live there, even if they didn’t seem to use electric lights. Or maybe their fuses had gone. Yes, that was probably it. It was probably someone completely normal who her parents hadn’t made friends with because they ran out of invitation cards to their housewarming party. Completely normal, she told herself. She nodded decisively, and went and got into bed, and turned off the light, and snuggled down under her duvet.
She chose to ignore the fact that the smoke coming out of the chimney was pink.