Excerpt from ‘The Intruder’ by Margaret Ferguson of Larne Writers’ Group
On the spur of the moment, I slowed down and pulled up alongside him. I leaned over, to turn off the irritating voice on the radio and, when I straightened up, I was staring into his pallid face pressed against the driver’s window. His eyes were cold and hard. Heart racing, I fumbled for the gears and, somehow, managed to pull myself together and drive off.
I watched him in the rear view mirror until he was lost in the swirling winter mists.
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Hide AdI had been travelling along this road quite a lot lately, filling in for a colleague who was on maternity leave. I hadn’t had a sighting of the dark man for the past few nights and was beginning to think, maybe he had moved on: but, somehow, I wasn’t convinced. And then, one evening, without thinking, I pulled onto the side of the road and got out of the car. I looked up and down the deserted country road. An angry wind, already howling through the trees, seemed to be gathering in force. I shivered, and was just about to get back into my car, when I saw him, the dark man, standing by the side of the road, in front of a gate leading to
an old house. He stared in my direction and, as I watched, started to walk toward me, taking long, striding steps. A lorry thundered past and, when I looked again, he had vanished.
One evening, leaving work earlier in the afternoon, and compelled by who knows what, I pulled up again in front of the old house; my curiosity got the better of me, and always, inside my head, was that insistent voice, urging me to have a closer look. I peered through the thickening mist. At the far end of the grounds, surrounding the house was a driveway leading to a double garage and, some distance past this, stood a high iron gate.
Climbing out of the car, I walked over and pushed the gate open, its rusty hinges screeving through the silent winter air. Taking a quick look around, I walked slowly up the uneven path, my feet crunching into the cinders; on either side of the path, there were a variety of overgrown flowerbeds, choked with weeds and decayed leafs blown from the tall trees lining the spacious garden. I thought, what a pity the garden and flowerbeds had been so neglected, they must have been really lovely when they were in full bloom.I tried the heavy front door; it was locked. I walked past the grimy windows, covered by old black blinds, and around to the back of the house. Two outhouses sat, side by side, in a large concrete yard, littered with all kinds of rubbish.
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Hide AdI picked my way gingerly over to the back door; it was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and entered a large kitchen, furnished with a stove, fridge and large working table; some unwashed dishes were piled in the sink. Someone must have left in a hurry, I imagined.
Opening a floor length cupboard, I discovered an assortment of shoes and Wellington boots: some of them, judging by their size, must have belonged to children; and hanging on wall hooks at the back of the cupboard were coats, some of them, again, obviously children’s.
Leaving the kitchen, I walked into a long, narrow hall; a child’s pram with a large pink-dressed doll was pushed against the wall, and two school bags and a few picture books lay together on the floor. I passed an old grandfather clock and entered what must have been the lounge; a man’s coat was lying over an armchair and a woman’s high-heeled shoe lay discarded on the floor, with a red silk scarf crumpled nearby.
Feeling like a trespasser, an intruder, I returned to the hall and climbed the stairs; a tattered teddy bear lay forlornly on one of the steps. I stood on the landing, looking around.
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Hide AdThe house must have been vacant for quite a while; it smelt dank, mouldy and unlived in; the air was freezing. I shivered and pulled my coat tighter around me.
Leading off the landing were four bedrooms. I pushed open the nearest door. A large, iron-posted bedstead was positioned in the middle of the spacious room, with bedside cabinets at either side; the floor was covered with a thick, patterned carpet. I lifted a framed photograph from one of the cabinets: it showed a young, fair-haired woman and two little girls, and beside them, a tall, dark-haired man. I looked closer, and remembered that pallid face pressed against the window: this man in the photo was the same man, the same, sinister man I had seen standing outside the house. This must be a family photograph, I thought, a
happy man pictured with his wife and young daughters. Perhaps, that’s why he was here: maybe he was clearing out the family’s belongings? But I still felt uneasy. I was overcome by a sudden feeling of foreboding. The very walls seemed to be closing in on me. I had to get out of here. Stumbling through the back door, I ran for dear life back to the front of the house. The sky was darkening. I pulled open the gate, slammed it shut behind me and raced to the car. Starting the engine, I turned around and took a backward glance at the house. I froze. The dark-haired man was watching me from an upstairs window.
I looked at him for a long moment, almost hypnotised. As I drove off, I could feel his eyes boring into me - penetrating my very soul.
Look out for Part 2 of The Intruder, coming soon…