...unleashed

The old tumbledown cottage was being watched.

Under a pale winter moon, inquisitive eyes took in the weathered front door of the limewashed cob and timber building. They skimmed over the gaping holes in the broad thatched roof and noticed the precarious shutters rattling against narrow casement windows in the bitter wind.

The sense of abandonment and neglect was evident in the eerie grounds as well. The small orchard had long since lost its fight to brambles; the surrounding picket fence was rotten and several loose sections had toppled over; even the well-trodden footpath that snaked through the garden had been sluggishly claimed by decaying undergrowth.

The small stranger studied the cottage, drawn to the curled-up figure silhouetted in a lower window.

Minutes passed. The figure didn't stir.

The stranger paused then picked their way down the choked footpath to the front door. The latch was lifted. The door was pushed open.

The stranger deliberated for another moment . . .

. . . then stepped into the cottage.

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