Rebirth - 1. Chapter 1

The stagnant air clung to my clothes.

The foul stench of rotting earth and of stagnant ponds, contaminated by the foliage that fell from the deciduous trees around them, made my nose hairs recoil. I had arrived at the crossroads on the track. One way; a walk in the moonlight, the stars twinkling, but it took several hours. The other way; dark, dank and as scary as hell, but so much shorter. It cut maybe two hours off my journey.

It had been so long since I had walked this path.

I was a city boy now, had been for the last ten years. After leaving I never looked back. But I had to return, or the bank would foreclose and the estate would be claimed by the government. The sole heir didn’t want it. I didn’t want it. What would I do with it? There had been endless talks with my other half, going over and over the reasons for not staying here.

There was ten acres of isolated moorland, a farm house, outbuildings, and a wood.

The torch flickered as the batteries expired. I looked right towards the wide, clear track lit up by moonlight. And then left, towards a wooded entrance where the track disappeared into the darkness.

I wiped my sweating brow. I had already walked the three mile uneven track from Sam’s farm. He had died years ago. The farmhouse was now owned by a young couple from London who regarded it as a second home. They had sold Sam’s sheep that had been left wandering over the moors, and the land had been sold to the military who built an airbase on it. I called it Sam’s farm, I always would.

The next house on the track was boarded up. It had been like that when I went away. At the time, the family argued over probate; the house would fall to the ground before they would agree. And then onto the track that led to the farm. The Silver Birch trees I had planted ten years ago, outside of the gate, were tall and strong, the undergrowth thick and high. Other trees had taken root too, their denser foliage blacking out the moonlight.

The gate.

The gate was scarier from this side, I couldn’t even see it. It had been such a battle to conquer it from the other side. Now I had a similar battle to go through it again. I had walked away at the age of nineteen, a young farmer who had found his true love over the internet. I had left my mother in the house, could it be that she was still here?

I decided to take the shorter, more familiar route.

The torch finally died and I left it beside a large stone. It was of no use to me now. I kicked away at the undergrowth and placed a foot down onto the soggy earth beneath, stamping about to make sure my footing would hold before taking another step. It had always been boggy here. Mother Nature had taken back that which belonged to her. After two hundred yards the trees closed around me, but I continued. I was used to visiting the wood at night.

The dark held no fear for me.

The branches and twigs grabbed hold of me, like an evil spirit trying to cling on. Trying to hold me back. Keep me there. Leaves slapped against my face and scratched at my cheeks. Brambles and ferns closed around my feet and gripped at my ankles.

Finally, the rusted gate was in front of me. The padlock hung from the chain, parts of it had long since rusted away. Fragments of old mail were stuffed into the mail box I had made. I’d made it so that Greg, the postman, didn’t have to walk all the way up to the house.

I opened it.

Its high pitched creak hurt my ears. I left it open, expecting it to close behind me, but, the long grass stopped it from closing. The moonlight shone down upon the pathway that wound its way up to the house. I looked up at the crescent moon reclining on its back and the many stars, like a glitter filled blanket, lit up the sky and an owl startled me as it swooped low over my head. The barking of a fox in the distance comforted me. It couldn’t be the same Mrs Fox I had adopted. She would have died years ago. I was pleased there were still foxes around. I plodded on.

The moonlight reflected off the large, covered, hay bales piled on either side of the track. Plastic coverings, torn and weathered, flapped in the warm breeze. The chicken sheds had collapsed onto the ground and the chickens were no longer in residence.

BANG!

I stopped dead in my tracks.

BANG. BANG!

The noise came from the barn. I edged my way towards the sound, careful not to trip or step on a twig. Step, by agonising step. The banging continued. My brow washed over with sweat. The sweat dripped down onto my eyelashes. My mouth dried up and my tongue stuck to my upper palette.

BANG!

And then I saw it.

The shutter. Flapping in the wind. Banging against the framework of the barn. I closed and secured it then turned and looked at the black silhouette of the house.

My blood chilled.

I trembled. My eyes closed tight. I remained motionless. Something curled around my feet. I heard a strange croaking sound and then a familiar deep purr.

“Hollie? Hollie?” I said out loud and picked up my old cat. “Oh baby, look at you.” I stroked her as she purred around my jaw. I counted silently. She was sixteen and well fed. She had become feral with nobody for company. But she had remembered her dad. I chuckled and tickled her ear as she perched on my shoulder. The next few steps to the back door were slow and steady, not only to help Hollie stay balanced on my shoulder, but also to prepare myself for what lay within.

I took a firm hold of the large brass door knob and turned it.

The door creaked, but did not resist when I pushed slightly against it. It wasn’t and never had been locked. I fumbled for candles and a box of matches on a shelf beside the door. They were still there, so I lit one and placed it on the dust covered window ledge and lit two more. I placed one on the kitchen counter and another on my old desk. The sink was full of pots, dirty and covered in mould. The rotting food stench had long since gone. It was powder now, overgrown with mould and lichen. Ivy had grown through a broken pane in the window, its tentacles clinging to everything it touched.

My computer still sat on my desk, cobwebbed and dust covered, old fashioned and out of place. My love’s picture leaned against it. I picked it up, and wiped away the cobwebs and dust. He looked the same, he always would to me. I put it down gently as I heard a strange sound from upstairs. The blood ran cold in my veins. I hated going upstairs before, it was even scarier now. I don’t even know how or who had found her, how they took her away, and where they buried her, or whether anyone had been at all. I left no forwarding address and I had changed my name, when our civil partnership was held. I took his name. I no longer wanted my own.

I lifted Hollie from my shoulder and placed her down on the couch. I took several deep breathes before picking up the candle, and walked into the hall.

I stood at the foot of the stairs.

Trembling.

I didn’t want to go up there. But something was up there. I could hear it.

The first step creaked loudly as I placed my weight on it, and so did the second. My heartbeat was banging in my head. My breathing was fast, erratic, and the hand that held the candle trembled. Hot wax dripped onto my fingers. I did not care. I was afraid of what was up there.

All the doors were closed.

I observed all three bedroom doors; the bathroom door, the airing cupboard, and then the doorless closet, the door had been removed by Luke years ago. It had been my dungeon. My prison. The place in which my mother had thrown me as a child, and left me for hours on end.

I stood in front of the door that opened into her bedroom and closed my eyes to picture how it had looked when I left. I gripped the handle and slowly turned, breathing deeply, almost panting with fear as I pushed it open.

My body froze with fear, as it had always done.

I opened my mouth to scream.

No sound came.

My mind raced. How could this have happened? Why had no one come?

She was on the bed.

Pillows plumped up behind her.

Her lower jaw hung from her face, her hands clutched a cup and saucer.

I couldn’t move.

Ten years.

The same strange noise startled me and I turned towards the window. Two of the panes were broken. Ivy had taken a hold here too and a bird was trapped in its tangled threads. The starling was young, with iridescent black and gold speckled plumage, slightly damaged from struggling. I walked around the bed to the window making shushing sounds to try and calm the screeching bird. I placed the candle on the bedside cabinet and tried to help her.

But it pecked at my hands and screeched just the same. After a few moments I managed to free her and checked her wings. They were undamaged. I opened the window and let her fly free.

I had disturbed the pillows while stretching to free the bird and my mother’s head had rolled sideways. It now sat at an angle. It would have been comical in some silly horror film, but, to me, it looked like she was laughing.

At me.

She had just died here, like this. No doctor or coroner. No funeral director or burial. Just a lonely death. It’s what she had always wanted, to be left alone.

A stood at the bottom of the bed and stared at her. No sadness. No remorse. I didn’t feel anything. The years of abuse had left their scars. Most had healed. I was tall and strong, but mentally the wounds were still healing. But each day was happier than the last. I had a new life now. I had travelled, and seen things that as a young boy I could only have imagined.

And my love, the man who was a part of me, I could not and would not live without.

I don’t know how long I stood there.

The morning chorus, and the rays of the rising sun upon my skin, startled me awake and I slowly backed away. I went downstairs and outside. The trough pump dripped, so the springs were still there, active. I grabbed the handle and pumped. The water soon ran freely, only when it turned icy cold did I taste it. It was fresh and clean. I knew things were on the up. We could make it work. We could start again. It might be worth the effort.

I dried my hands on my coat and took my phone from my pocket and laughed and ran up the hill for a better signal. It was just the same as it had always been. But now there was no fear, no memories. There was just a beaten up farm that needed tender loving care.

“Hey! Lukey. Can you get over here? There’s some official stuff needs sorting, and I don’t know what to do. Thanks. See you soon.” I ended the call and looked for the next number I needed to call.

“Hey, baby. I think we can do this, it needs a hell of a lot of work, but we can do it together.”

The sun rose higher.

The future looked bright.

Our future was filled with hope.