A final prompt from a Dean Writers Circle workshop, stolen for my FaceBook prompts.
‘This is our new home?’ Julie dropped the cases she carried to the wet ground and stared.
‘Told you it was quaint, didn’t I?’ Alex paused beside her, a huge box cradled in his arms. He grinned.
‘Quaint is an interesting word,’ Julie muttered.
The grey stone farmhouse squatted bleakly at the end of a cracked concrete path where sickly weeds gasped for purchase. Scrappy grass spread either side of the path, finishing at vaguely defined borders where leafless shrubs fought the brambles in a losing war.
‘A doer-upper,’ Alex said. His tone was jovial. ‘You said you wanted a project.’
‘A project,’ Julie repeated faintly. ‘Not one for the rest of my life.’
Grimy glass peered sightlessly from paint-free window frames. Lichen disguised the colour and nature of the concave roof, and the front door boasted raw strips as if some creature – a bear, a wild dog? – had attacked it.
Alex kept the grin going. ‘Let’s get inside. You’ll see.’
Julie shuddered. See what? Was it even safe? Infested wooden flooring you could put a foot through, mouldy rugs and peeling walls swam in her head.
Alex strode up the path, balanced the box on one bent knee and fumbled a massive iron key into a rusted – and doubtless futile – lock. He pushed, wriggled the key and the door reluctantly creaked open.
Julie peered from behind her husband into a dank gloom. Dusk was falling on this wintry day, and after the long drive she was eager for a cup of tea, a hot shower and warm food.
Would that even be possible? Any of it?
She stepped into the shadowy entrance hall, set the bags on the grimy linoleum which covered the wormy floor.
‘Is there electricity?’ she asked, peering around for a light switch of any vintage.
‘Of course.’ Alex found the switch – a round, black, bakelite affair. He clicked it on.
A dim bulb glowed listlessly from the centre of the flaking ceiling. Julie and Alex peered at this sign of life.
‘See,’ Alex said with pride. ‘All mod cons.’
Julie pursed her lips. Optimism for her cup of tea gleamed, albeit as faintly as the light bulb.
‘Let’s get the kettle–‘ she said …
Just as the light flickered and went out.
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I can see this renovation will be plagued with lots of problems LOL
Aren’t they all?!