The door is nudged open, is a writing prompt from my current work in progress, as yet untitled. The section it comes from is shown below. The story is a sequel to River Witch and a dual timeline – having fun with that!
Pots spill with untended flowering lavenders, green and variegated mints and purple-bloomed sage, while thymes, chamomile, blue-flowering borage and pink valerian disguise once well-kept paths and hug blowsy bushes. The sun lights the scene and warms the scents, and the contented buzz of bees accompanies Aaron’s frowning inspection of the colourful abundance.
He sighs and turns to the heavy timber door – in no better shape than the windows – lifts the iron knocker and lets it fall. He cannot remember ever using the knocker. The door always stood open on warm days, and he and Marianne never stood on the ceremony of asking permission to enter Mother Lovell’s cottage.
Shuffling footsteps, a bolt grating heavily through its rings, and the door is nudged open. A dark eye, buried in crepey folds of skin, squints against the light.
He sighs and turns to the heavy timber door – in no better shape than the windows – lifts the iron knocker and lets it fall. He cannot remember ever using the knocker.
The door always stood open on warm days, and he and Marianne never stood on the ceremony of asking permission to enter Mother Lovell’s cottage.
Shuffling footsteps, a bolt grating heavily through its rings, and the door is nudged open. A dark eye, buried in crepey folds of skin, squints against the light.
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Mother Lovell has obviously changed a bit from earlier days LOL
But how old is she really?
THE DOOR IS NUDGED OPEN
Spot pushes with his nose and the door is nudged open.
On the other side, he spies his mistress in the kitchen preparing the evening meal.
“Spot,” she cries. “Where have you been, you naughty boy, I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”
The black and white fox terrier furiously wags his tail, pleased to see his mistress after a long day exploring the woods.
He waits patiently as his she prepares his dinner – a fairly quick operation that involves pouring Smackos from a box into a bowl – then feverishly devours it in 30 seconds flat.
“You could take more time, you know,” she chides. “Like, actually try enjoying the meal for a change.”
Spot wags his tail once more, then jumps onto a chair and watches as his mistress continues her meal preparations.
If only he could talk, what a tale he would have to tell her.
The morning started uneventfully enough. Sun glistening through the trees to illuminate a leafy floor as he sniffed his way through Dead Man’s Woods.
Nothing moved as he explored first one trail, then another. The smells were intoxicating – moulding leaves exuding an earthy odour that the adventurous dog found both invigorating and unable to resist.
The further Spot advanced, the more spellbound he became, until another, quite unfamiliar scent assailed his nostrils.
He took a few more steps and the gentle breeze turned what was a scent into an undeniable stench that almost had the dog retching.
And there it was – the source of the odour, human remains decaying on the path in front of him.
Covering his eyes with a paw, Spot turned from the grisly scene and made a beeline for home.
Would have got her sooner, he thought, if it hadn’t been for that pesky neighbour’s cat Spike wanting to attack him – as always.
Took quite a bit of effort to overcome him in the ensuing brawl. Lucky he hadn’t lost an eye during the altercation.
Now, all he had to do was somehow alert his mistress to the fact that she needed to come to the woods to deal with his dreadful discovery.
Gosh, poor Spot. Glad he prioritised his dinner over the remains however!