Chapter 1

Linda and I lived all our lives in Worth Matravers, a little Dorset village in the Purbecks. I had just had my twenty first birthday and was, like a great many people, out of work. Linda was only sixteen and helped her mum out whilst not at school. Times were hard for young people like us starting our lives together. The country was in the midst of the worst recession in years and my prospects of finding work were sadly almost none. I was sorry for those men with skills who were out of work and had a family to feed. There seemed little chance for a boy like me getting work with only school certificates to show an employer.

I tried to make the most of my enforced idleness, but it wasn’t easy, it gave me lots of time with very little to do with it. Without my dear friend and sweetheart Linda, life would have seemed so empty. Linda and I were inseparable; we had known each other virtually all our lives. We were never out of each other's company outside of school hours. Most of the villagers were good to Linda and me and smiled upon seeing us. We enjoyed being known locally as the lovebirds.

The tiny village only consisted of a church, public house and thirty or so homes. Like most modern teenagers, there was not a great deal for Linda and me to do in the village. We spent most of our time wandering around aimlessly in each other’s arms. However, whenever we were together the little leafy hamlet transformed itself into our own personal paradise.

It was only a matter of time before marriage. Linda’s parents always assumed we would marry one day. They never asked if this was likely, they could see without asking that we were meant for each other. Childhood had not separated us; adulthood would only bond our love more tightly. Even the raging recession about us could not dampen our thoughts for one another or our ideas for the future.

However, our love for one another would be tested. over the coming years, Outside our charming insulated little village burned an ugly recession where the fit survived and the weak fell by the wayside. Millions of able-bodied people were on the dole. Queues snaked from the unemployment centres as hundreds signed on for benefit each week. Others suffered the anguish of having their beloved homes taken from them by greedy faceless banks and building societies. For Linda and me the future looked hard. The average villager saw joy in our hearts as we made the most of each day. We explored each other’s minds and souls. The harsher realities of the greater world would have to wait.

Every day when Linda returned from school for her evening meal, I waited like clockwork on the little stone clad wall that separated her parent’s garden from the street. Patiently, I would sit there. I was a skinny specimen, six feet tall with slightly wavy brown hair. I couldn’t be called handsome, but Linda liked me and that was all I cared about. I whistled gently to myself while I waited. As always, Linda rushed her tea. Linda’s parents often remonstrated that she would get indigestion if she ate too quickly. The words hit deaf ears as she had only one thing on her mind and that was to join me as fast as she could. She often darted out of the cottage still chewing her food and into my arms. Together we embraced passionately. Our affection for one another amused Linda’s parents. There was nothing to stop our young love. Through the kitchen window, Linda’s parents shook their heads in admiration of our youth and got on with washing the dishes.

Outside in the evening sunshine, Linda was in a world of her own with me in her arms. Entwined together, we would roam the narrow village lanes. Often during the summer we walked to the edge of the village and sat in a favourite field shared by two horses. The horses seemed as much in love with each other as Linda and me.

“Look how the horses chase each other around the field, Rodney,” Linda remarked admiringly as she watched a white mare with a brown smudge on her nose chase a darker horse around the far side of the green field. The noise of their hooves and their frantic neighing filled the air.

“Yes,” I agreed, sliding closer to my girlfriend. “They are feeling frisky like me,” I added, lightly walking my fingers up Linda’s legs and flicking her knickers elastic, only to have my hand abruptly brushed away.

“Don’t be so impatient, Rodney. You will have to wait for that sort of thing,” Linda rebuked, giving away a little twinkle in her eye.

“What do you mean, that sort of thing?” I inquired somewhat indignantly. “I was only being affectionate.”

“You know very well what I mean, Rodney. You always try it on. You can try as much you like but you will not succeed in naughty business until the day we marry.”

“Oh, you are such a spoil sport. Must I wait until then?” I pleaded with disappointment.

Linda smiled and held my chin with one hand and planted a firm kiss on my rough lips.

“Yes,” she reiterated firmly. “I want to do things properly. I shall marry in white, and we shall have a church ceremony like decent couples do. Then, and only then, on our wedding night, you may run your lustful hands up my skirt as many times as you wish.”

“I want to make love to you now, here with just the horses watching,” I said, naughtily slipping my hand back up Linda’s skirt until I fleetingly touched the cotton of her knickers for the second time. However, before I could plan my next move, Linda punched me fair and square on the jaw. I flew backwards onto the grass and let out a scream, which startled the horses. The animals darted off to the far corner of the field and disappeared into a small wood. I stood up, held my jaw, and called Linda names. The girl rose to her feet and ran after me, squirting juice at me from her bottle of drink. We chased each other around in circles until we dropped, laughing in exhaustion.

“When will we get married?” Linda asked in a serious tone of voice.

“I don’t know, I really don’t know.” I answered thoughtfully, which was unusual as it was not like me to take much seriously. “I don’t have a job, Linda. Without a job how are we to find a home and a place to live?” I asked with frustration. “Maybe when the recession is over I can find work.”

“Life is so hard and unfair,” Linda remarked whilst snuggling closer to me. “Houses are so expensive, even if we both worked, we could barely afford one. What hope is there for us when neither of us is working?”

“Things may change, Linda. The recession cannot last forever. There will be better times, you’ll see,” I added in an attempt to cheer her up. “ We cannot marry now anyway, you are under age and still at school. You must not be impatient, our time will come.”

We cuddled and kissed until we fell off into a shallow sleep in the warm sunshine. Both of us woke when the sun began to sink over the horizon and a cool breeze blew over the tall grass heads.

“Wakey, wakey,” I said, turning to give Linda a shake. Linda sat straight up in a daze and rubbed her eyes furiously as she tried to awake.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, fighting to wake herself up.

“It’s getting dark and we must get you back home,” I said.
We rose from the tall grass and brushed ourselves down before turning to leave the field. We picked pieces of grass from ourselves as we made our way back over to the field gate.

“It is a shame,” Linda observed, “that we cannot afford a house or home of our own, when there is a cottage over there that has been un-lived in for as long as I can remember.”

“What cottage do you mean?” I asked, looking around myself and seeing nothing that resembled a house. No matter how hard I looked I could see nothing but vegetation, just fields, hedgerows and woods.

“You must have noticed the cottage before?” Linda remarked with surprise. “Look over there on the far side of the field close to the woods.

I put hands to my brow to shield my eyes from the strong sunlight. “I see nothing.” I remarked. “No,” I concurred. “I can’t see anything like a building where you are pointing.”

“Never mind.” Linda added with frustration, “It is far too late for me to show it to you now. I will show it to you tomorrow.”

With that comment, we began the slow walk back to Linda’s house. We approached and saw a light in the kitchen. This lit up a silhouette of Linda’s father who sat outside in the near dark smoking his pipe. Linda’s mother did not like smoke in the house and her husband had to adjourn outside should he wish to indulge in “such a disgusting habit.”

“Hello Rodney.” The old man said, taking the smelly pipe from his mouth. “It is a smashing evening, isn’t it? I hope you have been taking good care of my daughter?”

“I have indeed.” I replied in a positive voice. Linda smiled sheepishly at what she considered this not very truthful remark.

“Where have you two been on such a beautiful summer’s evening? You have been gone a very long time. We were just about to send out a search party,” Linda’s father said, jokingly.

“Oh, we have been down in the field at the end of the village. You know, the field with the two ponies,” I replied, holding Linda’s hand tightly. “We like to sit in the grass and write poems.”

“Oh yeah,” Linda remarked, looking at me incredulously. Then she realised her dad was the audience and decided to discreetly drop the subject.
“Yes, I know where you mean,” Linda’s father replied. “Come on inside you two, before you catch your death of cold,” he added, guiding us into the warm kitchen heated by a log fired stove. Linda’s kitchen was rather basic and plain, but it was also warm and inviting, a nice place to retreat for a few moments on a cool summer’s evening.

“Dad,” Linda asked pensively. “Do you remember the old derelict cottage down at the end of the field with the two horses?” It has been empty for years and years, for as long as I can remember.”

“No, my lass,” Linda’s father replied thoughtfully whilst fingering his chin with his thumb. “Cottage, cottage,” he mumbled under his breath, “where is this cottage again?” Linda showed her frustration at her dad for not remembering the house.

“You know the one, the cottage down at the bottom of the field with the two horses,” Linda repeated. The woods have now grown all around the building and it is completely hidden from the road.”

“There used to be a cottage down that way, that is for sure, but I thought it was pulled down ages ago,” the man added, still confused.

“See,” I announced playfully, “You’re imagining things Linda. You’re imagining things all the time. I couldn’t see any house in the woods.”

“I do not imagine things,” Linda rebuked firmly, finding the remark irritating and far from playful. “Listen Rodney, there is an old derelict cottage just two hundred feet from where we were lying in the grass.” Linda started colouring as she realised how embarrassing it was admit to us lying in the grass, especially in front of her father. Linda’s dad was quick enough to note the slipped remark; he was also big enough to pretend he had not heard.

“Show me tomorrow, Linda. I want to see this cottage for myself,” I asked as I looked at my watch. “I have to leave now to be home in time for my dinner. You know what my parents are like, they will only moan if I am late.”

With that remark, I said my goodbyes to both Linda and her dad. With a gentle peck on Linda’s cheek, I left for the gate. Linda’s father waved goodbye from the kitchen door until I disappeared from view. Turning back to look at Linda, her dad gave her a wistful smile and said: “Lying in the grass with Rodney indeed. It seems to me my dear, the sooner your mother and I have you married the better.”

Chapter 2

I met Linda the next evening as usual, and what a glorious evening it was too, the sun shone with vengeance. The sky was blanket blue and without even the smallest hint of a cloud. There was a lot of friction in my household. My adoptive mother and father did not seem to get along sometimes. The rows and bickering were daily, so for Linda’s sake I would always come to her home, instead of her meeting me at mine. Linda, on the other hand, had a poor but loving family who supported her all the way. Despite the bareness of Linda’s home and the lack of modern appliances, the little cottage oozed with warmth and love. The family atmosphere turned Linda into a loving and sensitive person.

I knew I had struck gold when I found Linda. I was determined to do everything I could possibly do to keep her at my side forever. I arrived at Linda’s cottage to see her washing her baby brother’s clothes in the kitchen sink. Linda hadn’t seen me come and continued with her chores. I watched as she scrubbed the bundle of wet clothes furiously with a scrubbing brush. I stepped over to her and lightly pinched the girl’s bottom until she nearly hit the ceiling with shock.

“Why Rodney! Why do you persist in frightening me?” she asked, flicking a wet baby suit around my face in punishment.

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

Linda stretched up, placing her wringing wet hands on either side of my shoulders to give me a huge kiss. “Not that you deserve a kiss, frightening me the way you did,” Linda reminded me with a warning finger.

“Everybody out then,” I concluded. “You would not kiss me like that if your dad was about. Come on, give me another peck?”
“No Rodney, and yes, you are correct, mother is out,” Linda replied putting her hands back in the sink. “Sit at the table. I won’t be very long. Mum wants me to have these clothes on the washing line while the sun still shines.”

I sat at the little table. The plastic tablecloth almost matched Linda’s summer frock. I watched and admired Linda’s figure as she squiggled and turned in her attempt to wring out the wet garments. Like the man I am, I stood and stepped over to the girl’s side.

“Here let me do that,” I said. I could no longer watch Linda struggle needlessly. I began to wring the clothes dry. Soon the wet bundle of washing was dismissed with our desire for each other. Linda released the grip of her hands and the pile of sodden clothes hit the stone floor with a thud. We frantically ran our hands up and down one another’s bodies in fevered lust.

Then as suddenly as it all began, the familiar squeak of the garden gate sounded. Linda and I realised the significance, broke our embrace and dived to the floor to retrieve the washing before Linda’s mother reached the kitchen door.

“Linda quick, your mother is coming up the garden path,” I urged.

“I know, I know,” Linda replied, scooping up the washing just as her mother opened the kitchen door.

“Have you done William’s washing, Linda?” Mother asked as she stepped into the kitchen, barely looking up from her heavy bags of shopping. I took the shopping from the poor woman’s aching hands. The old lady looked up and smiled at me, she always appreciated my attentiveness.

“I am going to put the washing on the line now,” Linda replied, stepping outside into the blazing sunshine. I made my excuses and dashed outside into the back garden to give Linda a hand. We both laughed at having deceived Linda’s mother so well.

Later that afternoon to escape more chores given out by Linda’s mother, we left the cottage for a walk in the evening sun. It was indeed a wonderful evening. The sky was still vivid blue without a cloud to be seen anywhere. The air was still and sultry. The village bloomed with flowers in every garden which added to the summer scene.

“Let’s go down to the field again,” I suggested, guiding Linda in the general direction even before the poor girl could utter an answer.

“I know why you want to get me into that field, Rodney,” Linda announced with a wistful smile. “Remember what I told you the other night; any funny business will have to wait until we marry. No exceptions.”

“We shall see,” I replied, opening the old rusty gate. “Let’s go over there,” I said, “where the grass is longest. We don’t want to be seen from the road, do we?”

We waded through the long dry grass and stopped to admire the red poppies. The flowers were so dense on the far side of the field it was emblazoned with red. We chose a suitable spot and I flattened the grass with my feet and threw down my jacket for Linda to sit. We settled ourselves down into a cuddle and kiss. Between embraces, we gazed up at the blue sky and watched huge dragonflies buzz overhead.

“Are there any rivers nearby?” I asked.

“Nope,” Linda replied.

“Ponds maybe? If not, where have all these dragonflies come from? I have not noticed them before.”

“There is a small pond near that derelict house I was telling you about the other night. It’s all silted up and stagnant now, however, there is a bit of water and the insects seem like it,.” Linda replied, snuggling closer to my side for warmth. “Give me a kiss,” she demanded, pouting her lips.

“You watch it, you,” I said smiling, “you’ll get me all of a dither, and then tell me off for getting frisky.”

“Control yourself then, Rodney, you know my thoughts on friskiness,” Linda replied. “Cuddling is all that’s on the menu for today.”

“Where is this house you talk of then?” I asked, sitting bolt upright and glancing about myself, still confused as to where it might be. “I cannot see any cottages anywhere.”

Linda became annoyed with me. She had only just made herself comfortable and now I had sat up. “Over there,” Linda said abruptly, pointing into the distance with her finger. She then sat back down, dismissing the matter.

“Where did you say?” I repeated, now having my interest aroused. I could not see anything in the direction she pointed. “You pointed so fast I could not see where you meant.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Linda inquired, “You were not bothered when I mentioned the cottage the other night. Indeed, in front of my father, you dismissed it all as nonsense, remember?”

“Well, I believe you okay. Come on, show me where it is, please?”

Linda knew me well; she knew I would not give up until she had shown me the cottage. Slowly she rose from the tall grass whilst moaning under her breath. Linda gathered her things and threw me my jacket with the remark, “I suppose you will want me to show you the house right now?”

“Great. Come on,” I said, immediately stepping off through the dense grass.

“Wait for me,” Linda shouted, struggling to catch me up.

We walked off in the direction of the woods. Linda and I could barely see where we were going. Some of the grass was nearly as tall as us. At the far end of the field, we came across another rusty gate. I had to use all my strength to get it open; obviously it had not been disturbed in many years.

“I still can’t see any house or cottage,” I said, staring at a wall of trees and greenery ahead of me.

“Trust me,” said Linda, taking my hand and leading the way. As we walked on, the evening light grew less and the plant life grew denser. Soon we were wading through the undergrowth until we came out in a little clearing. We saw before us a green overgrown pond which buzzed with wildlife. I could just make out a house in the distance through the dense trees

“Good Lord! You’re right,” I said, barely believing what I saw with my own eyes. I stood in awe as I made out the distant structure. “I have lived in the village all my life. I never knew a cottage existed here. Let's take a closer look,” I urged, showing the first signs of excitement in my voice. Without further word, I waded towards the cottage, leaving Linda to struggle behind me.

“It’s a bit overgrown around here,” Linda shouted disapprovingly as she tried to keep up with me. “I am not so sure this is a good idea. The place is so choked with brambles and things. I am wearing a new summer frock and I don’t want to tear my dress. Rodney, are you listening to me?”

“Oh, fuss pot,” I replied, taking Linda’s hand and jerking her forward towards me, tripping as she followed on.

Linda continued to protest in vain as we neared the house. The sun was setting fast. The undergrowth prevented us from making best use of the last of the daylight.

“Wait here,” I advised Linda. I was about to make my way the last one hundred feet or so to the cottage door on my own.

“No you don’t, you're not leaving me here on my own,” Linda protested. She lifted up her cotton dress to her knees so she could run to catch me up. I stopped as the cottage came into clear view.

“Wow!” I mumbled under my breath. “Look at the state of the house! Incredible. This cottage has not been lived in for donkey’s years. It is positively falling to bits.”
I saw before me an eighteenth century cottage in a bad state of decay. Straw had slipped from the thatched roof; fragments lay all around the house. I saw two ravens perched on the chimney squawking furiously as they looked down comically at us two unwanted guests.

“I don’t like it here one little bit,” Linda said in hushed tones. “Let’s go now,” she added, tugging my jacket furiously. “Come on Rodney, let’s go home. Please can we go home now?” she urged.

“No, no,” I insisted, dismissing the girl’s protestations. “It isn’t quite dark yet. We have plenty of time. Come on, let's go and try the door.”

We walked cautiously up to the old porch, stopping to look apprehensively at one another. We noticed that the damp and rot had got to the fabric of the door, the glass pane was about to fall out. I peered through the grey windowpane and inside I saw a pile of very yellow dusty letters on the floor at the foot of the letter flap.

“Look, look,” I shouted with uncontrolled excitement. “Come here Linda and see what I can see.”

“What?” Linda asked stepping to my side, not understanding why I was enthusiastic.

“Look at the stamps on the letters.” I said, pointing down at the dusty pile of envelopes. “They are years and years old. We don’t have stamps like these anymore.”

“Oh yes, I see,” Linda announced, taking interest. “The figure head on the stamps are not of our Queen, but a king. Good heavens!” Linda added, “It must be King George VI.”

“If you’re right Linda, that makes these letters over twenty years old or more,” I interjected.

I looked up at the dark sky through the trees. I suggested to Linda that we get back to the field and out into the open before it got too dark. The proposition of leaving was music to her ears. Linda found the whole place creepy and wanted to go as soon as possible. We hurriedly trudged back through the tall grass and brambles. Linda cursed every time a bramble snagged on her dress or tights. By the time Linda and I reached the field, darkness had almost descended. We chatted non-stop as we walked down the lane to Linda's home.

“I wonder who lived in that beautiful old cottage?” I mused aloud. Were the occupants old or young, villagers, or outsiders? “I don’t suppose we shall ever know,” I conjectured.
“I don’t know. I have no idea,” Linda replied, giving the matter some serious thought. “But,” she added, “there must be ways of finding out.”

“How can I find out? Any ideas Linda?”

“Let me think a bit,” she replied

We reached Linda’s house. She stopped to open the gate and shut it again behind her. Linda leaned back over and pecked me on the lips gently. After a quick hug, she said,

“You’re going into town tomorrow aren’t you, Rodney?”

“Yes,” I replied, not knowing what was going through Linda’s mind.

“Well,” Linda said as if the matter should have been obvious, “why don’t you ask about the cottage at the library? That is as a good a place to start as anywhere.”

“What a good idea,” I agreed, walking away, waving and blowing kisses. “I will drop in on the library in the morning.”

Chapter 3

I was so excited by the discovery of the cottage, it caused me to have a sleepless night. I tossed and turned as the derelict house caught my imagination. I had wished I had more time to look at the property properly. It just seemed odd that there shpuld be a derelict cottage right here in the village and, on first inquiry, nobody seemed to know anything about it. I was determined to solve the mystery. Linda did not know it yet but I was planning another trip to the house that very evening.

First, though, I meant to make some inquiries in the village. I left the house early, which surprised my parents; it was almost unknown for me to rise before midday. I knew Percy would be out of bed early. Percy was the oldest man in the village and quite a character. Nobody knew his true age but he sure looked old, well to me anyway. Percy liked to talk to all the villagers and literally walked the streets of the hamlet looking for victims to lure into endless conversation.

It was going to be Percy’s lucky day, but I had trouble finding him and had to traverse almost every lane in the village. I thought it just my luck; any other time Percy would have pounced on me. Finally, to my delight, I spotted the old man walking towards me, leaning on his ivory walking stick in the distance.

“Hello Rodney,” Percy said, picking up speed as he doddered towards me. I would have to set aside at least half an hour to allow the old man to tell me all the village gossip before asking my own pressing questions about the mysterious cottage. Percy guided me over to a dry stone wall and sat down with his walking stick between his legs.

“I am getting too old to stand up for long,” he apologised to me as I sat at his side. Percy, as predicted, immediately began telling me all the village news. Most of it was of no interest to me at all. However, the old man was quite a character and worth spending a little time with, especially as he might eventually be able to tell me something about the house.

“Percy,” I shouted as I struggled to get a word in sideways. “Do you know anything about the old derelict cottage down by the stream and paddocks?”

This question brought about silence as the old man rubbed his grey stubble while he tried to remember the cottage. He mumbled to himself for several seconds and then announced,

“Yes, I remember it. “I believe the house was pulled down years and years ago.”

“No.” I interjected. “It is still there, but it is overgrown with vegetation and it cannot be seen from the road or from the woods.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I replied impatiently.

“That’s interesting,” The old man said, “are you quite sure?” he asked again whilst scratching his head with the handle of the walking stick, still far from convinced.

“Yes,” I replied. “I am positive. I didn’t know the cottage existed myself until Linda showed me the place a few days ago. It is clear the house hasn’t been lived in since World War Two. It still stands but cannot be seen from the road. It is derelict and in poor condition.”
“Well, well,” Percy mumbled. “Who would have thought the old cottage is still standing? I do remember clearly the house remaining empty for some years. I suppose, as you say, it has become overgrown with trees, bushes and things until it could longer be seen. Then I suppose, slowly the villagers forgot all about the place. How remarkable,” the old man conjectured.

Percy looked at his pocket watch, which was an enormous surprise to me. I had never known Percy to be in a rush to go anywhere. Worse still, I had not asked any of the pressing questions I had in mind. Percy began the slow process of standing until he felt the pressing weight of my hand forcing him back down into a sitting position. I was not going to let him go until I had my say.

“Percy,” I said rather condescendingly. “I still need to talk to you. Please tell me what you know about the cottage? I need to know as much as I can about the house.”

The old man paused for a bit as he pondered over the question. I watched on while he twiddled with his ivory walking stick as the thought processes continued.

“I can’t really tell you much, Rodney.” The old man apologised as he discreetly looked at his pocket watch again. “All I can say,” he added, “is that the cottage was lived in by a young lady. Nobody really knew anything about her; she was an outsider, not born in the village. In those days silly little prejudices prevailed. If she were not born in the village, her acceptance would take many years. Not like today,” Percy added. “People from the city move into little villages like ours all the time. We have to accept them but there are too many at times.”

I mused over Percy’s remarks. I had hoped the old man could tell me more but this was looking unlikely. “So you cannot tell me much about the lady then Percy?” I asked.

“Very little,” the old man apologised again. “All I can say is she lived alone. I am sure about that. Maybe her husband was away at war. Most of the women in the village lived alone while their men fought for their country.” The old man paused again and added, “I was in the home guard, Rodney.”

“Yes,” I said patting the old man on the arm, “did you say you were in a rush to go somewhere?”
Percy saw his cue to leave and slowly hobbled off down the road waving back at me with his walking stick as he went. I looked at my watch and realised my bus into town would arrive at any moment. I darted off in the opposite direction. I just made it to the bottom of the lane, as I approached I saw a familiar red bus. I waved at the driver as I sprinted the last few yards. Fortunately, the driver was paying attention; he saw me and waited those crucial seconds for me to catch up.

I passed some change to the conductor and waded my way to the back of the moving bus. I liked to sit at the back of the bus so I could sit sideways with my shoes on the seat. I made myself comfortable, and I watched as the vehicle drove past the field and the cottage. I stared hard to see if I could see more of the building through the dense vegetation. There was no sign of the house’s existence that I could see from the road, even on the upper deck of the bus. No wonder everyone had forgotten all about the house.

An hour later, the bus arrived in Swanage town centre. I left the vehicle and made my way across town to the library. I entered the busy building and did not know where to begin so. I browsed through some books, but they were not a part of my mission. My job was to find out who lived in the cottage. Finally I plucked up enough courage to speak to the receptionist. The smiling woman seemed more than pleased to assist me.

“You will need to look at the last entry in the electoral register. If the house is empty, “the woman explained, “usually the last occupant is listed. The reason for this is that the electoral register is a public document so for security reasons no entry is left blank, otherwise thieves would know where to look for empty houses.”

“Oh I see,” I remarked, having learnt something I had not known before.

“Do you have the address?” The woman asked. “Without an address I cannot be much help to you.”

My face dropped. It had not occurred to me until now I did not have the foggiest idea of the address of the cottage, I felt foolish as I explained, and the condescending look on the receptionist’s face did not help to remove my discomfort.

I was about to walk away from the receptionist’s desk in a state of gloom when the woman placed her arm forward and stopped me from turning away.

“I might be able to help. Out in the back I think there are some old maps. I seem to remember one of these is a map of Worth Matravers. I don’t know how old the map is,” the woman apologised, “but, it is very yellow so it must be quite old, therefore it may show your cottage. If so, we may be able to deduce the address, then we will be able to look up a name for you on the register.” The lady rose from her seat and then I noticed that although she was quite attractive she was also very plump.

“Take a chair,” she demanded. “I will be a few minutes and then I shall come back to you with the map.”

It seemed like ages. I busied myself reading some magazines I found on a rack close to my seat. Just as I was getting engrossed in a story about a victim of the recession, the receptionist returned. She walked directly to where I was sitting.

“It okay, stay seated. We’ll look at the map together here,” she said, sitting on the bench next to me. In her hands was indeed a very old yellow map. “Let’s hope your cottage is included on this map. I have a feeling it might be.”

She proceeded to wipe off a layer of dust. Once the grime had gone, I saw ornamental writing and the words Worth Matravers. The receptionist pointed out the date inscribed below: 1942.

“This is wonderful,” I announced. “I reckon the cottage was last lived in during the early forties. With luck you’re probably right, the property must be on the map somewhere.”

The woman got on her hands and knees on the carpet and spread open the map. I left my seat and joined her on the floor.

“Show me where you think the cottage might be?” the woman asked as she perused the map. I glanced about the map too, trying to put everything in its place. I quickly identified Linda’s house and guided my way down to the field with my finger. With a jump for joy, I announced loudly that I had found the house. The receptionist seemed as excited as I did.

“It is here,” I shouted. “It is here,” I said, pointing to the spot.

“No shouting,” the librarian admonished, waving her finger at me in a chastising fashion. “This is a library, talk quietly.”

“Right,” she said keeping her finger firmly on the little square marked on the map. “Let’s take the map over to the reception desk. I have a magnifying glass there. I believe the house number might still be legible.” The woman draped the dusty map over the desk and picked up the biggest magnifying glass I had ever seen. I smiled when I noticed the distorted face of the receptionist through the other side of the eyepiece.

“Yes. I have got it,” she announced. “The address is 19 Mill Lane. Now,” she added, “let’s look in the electoral register.” The woman left me looking at the map as she moved to another part of the library. On her return, she passed a slip of paper to me with a smile that told all. I looked down at the slip of paper and saw the name Thelma Young.

“That’s a coincidence,” I remarked. “My surname is Young too.” The woman did not answer. I did not mind, I was happy, I felt the day had been worthwhile, mission accomplished. I had learned something about the cottage although not much. However, at least I now knew the owner’s name. On the bus back to Worth Matravers, I was deep in thought. I could not help wondering what had become of Thelma Young. Maybe she simply moved on to live somewhere else. However, why had she not sold the house first? Maybe she had fallen ill and died of old age. If so, why had the house not been sold by her executors?

I left the bus before my usual stop so I could walk by the field near Thelma’s cottage. It was an overcast day but quite warm. I lingered near the field and wondered how Thelma ever gained access. No path to the cottage seemed in evidence anymore. I walked casually through a small wooded area. I found traces of tarmac and gravel. In the middle of the asphalt grew trees some seventy feet tall surrounded by bramble and thick dense bushes. It was hard to imagine where I walked, was once upon a time a driveway to the building.

Eventually the damp drab little cottage came into view through the greenery. Nothing had changed since my last visit, time here was standing still. I looked about the windows and noticed the net curtains were dark grey and falling away from the frames with rot. I tried to imagine the cottage in better times, when perhaps Thelma tended the little garden. The garden now has become an extension of the woods. Maybe it was on this very spot she stood greeting guests as they arrived at the house. Thelma’s guests were now ravens, crows in the chimney and starlings nesting in the crumbling gutters, the garden a hunting ground for foxes, badgers and rabbits.
I looked at my watch and had time to spare so I decided to stay a little longer. I stepped over to the porch, noticing the front door was infested with woodworm. I glanced about myself then, satisfied I was alone, pulled the door sharply. The door that had lain undisturbed for twenty years or more quickly yielded to my strong arms with a loud squeak. I felt guilty about having broken the door.and instantly shut it and ran away. I was silly to feel nervous, as nobody knew of the house’s existence and I could not be seen from the road. However, I felt ashamed at what I had done. I was disgusted with myself for having damaged somebody else’s property and quickly made my way back through the woods and out onto the main road.

My guilt was short lived. Soon I was wishing I had the nerve to go inside the building and find out more of its mysteries. That afternoon, as always, I met Linda after her evening meal. The weather had improved on what it was like earlier in the day and there was some weak sunshine. Linda felt tired and indicated that she would like to stay indoors. She suggested we could share a freshly baked cake her mother made, while watching television. To make matters worse, Linda’s parents wanted my company for the evening too. However, this was not what I had in mind at all. I raced to think of an excuse to lure Linda out of the house.

“Oh Linda,” I announced with exaggerated disappointment, “I wanted to show you our newborn kittens at home. They are so beautiful, I was sure you wanted to see them.”

Linda instantly got excited and looked up from her knitting. “Did you hear that, Mum?” Linda asked. “Fluff has given birth to kittens. How many kittens did fluff have, Rodney?”

“Six. Come on, Linda, come quickly and see,” I urged. Linda’s interest in staying home for a cosy evening had left her mind completely. She dropped her knitting and rushed about the little house looking for her raincoat. Linda found her coat, I grabbed her arm, and we went outside. Plan executed brilliantly, I remarked to myself. Together, arm in arm, we walked off down the lane. We walked for a short while then Linda tugged me to a halt.

“Rodney,” Linda asked, completely confused. “Your house is in the other direction, why are we going this way?”

“I know.” I answered without further explanation.
“How are we to see Fluff’s newborn kittens if we are walking away from your house?” Linda inquired, a little narked by the absence of an explanation from me. “Rodney,” Linda insisted, “why are we going this way?”

“Fluff hasn’t had any kittens yet,” I answered, without qualifying my remark.

“It was an excuse to get me out of the house,” Linda replied in a huff. “I am disgusted with you, Rodney. Every time my parents want you to stay in with us for an evening, you make some phoney excuse to leave. My parents are not stupid you know, they know what you are up to most of the time.”

“It is different this time,” I answered.

“Oh yeah, why so different?” Linda asked.

We walked on quickly towards the field and ultimately to Thelma’s cottage.

“We are going to have another look at the cottage,” I said finally.

“What cottage do you mean?” Linda asked, not paying attention.

“You know, Thelma’s cottage,” I answered with annoyance.

“Thelma’s cottage?” Linda repeated, even more confused.

“Oh,” I replied, realising my mistake. “I found out the name of the person who used to live in the derelict cottage. I did exactly as you suggested, went into town and made some inquiries at the public library. They were very helpful.”

“Really,” Linda answered now understanding. “So, am I to deduce the occupant's name must have been Thelma?”

“Yes,” I answered. “The cottage is owned by Thelma Young.”

“What else have you found out?” Linda asked.

“That was all the information I got from the library. We need to go back to the house and see what other facts we can find,” I suggested.

We arrived at the small wood. Tonight we had more time than on the last occasion. I was eager to begin exploring.

“Come on Linda.” I said entering the woods. “I want to see the cottage again.”

“Not again,” Linda protested. “I wish I’d never mentioned the damn cottage. I didn’t know you were going to become obsessed with the place. I just find the whole place creepy,” Linda concluded. “Why on earth do you want to see it again?”
“That is the very thing that fascinates me,” I explained. “Aren’t you interested in what became of the house and why it should have been left empty and unattended for all these years?”

“No,” Linda replied, deliberately annoying me. I stopped and looked at her. She smiled, prompting a quick cuddle right there in the middle of the woods. We embraced and I felt a spot of warm rain land on my head.

“Come on Linda, let’s run to the house and take shelter,” I urged, pulling her along behind me quickly. Linda again was bruised, pricked and scratched by the wildlife on the frantic rush to the cottage porch. The porch was tiny; barely enough room for the two of us. We glanced about ourselves as now the rain outside poured heavily. The noise was terrific as we stood and watched the rain pound on the porch windowpanes. We waited silently since we could not hear each other speak.

When the rain eased we looked about ourselves and saw a yellowing telephone directory on a shelf, also there was a faded parasol hanging from a make shift hook. Under our feet were hundreds of old letters that the owner had never received to read. The rain returned and became so heavy it began to cascade through the cracks in the porch roof. I opened some of the letters but they only confirmed the lady of the house was Thelma Young. The letters told us little else, they were mostly bills and circulars.

“Let's go inside,” I urged with an air of caution in my voice.

“You are joking.” Linda protested, feeling a little frightened, “besides the door is locked.”

“Not any more,” I said opening the door a fraction to demonstrate it was unlocked.

Chapter 4

The rain poured through the porch even more than before. Soon we became committed to enter the cottage for shelter as we were both getting wet.

“Here goes,” I said, “are you ready?”

“No way am I ready,” Linda repeated. “Let’s go home please? I might let you take liberties with me in the grass, if we can leave now.”

It’s raining Linda. No, we are committed. If we bottle out tonight, we’ll never go inside,” I replied. “Come on, here we go.”

Gingerly, I pushed the door wide open. We looked at each other with trepidation; ahead beyond the door was darkness broken by a sliver of light in the far distance. Linda looked apprehensive and was about to remonstrate when I went ahead into the gloom. Rather than be left behind, Linda joined me, took a firm grip of my arm and drew her body up close for comfort.

“Shouldn’t we come back another time when we have a flashlight?” Linda asked.

It was true that neither of us could see in front of our noses. I stumbled forward and within seconds had tripped over what seemed in the darkness to be a metal stepladder, but could have been anything.

“Come on,” Linda urged impatiently, “let's go. This is not the time.”

I held my ankle in pain and was, much to my displeasure, forced to agree with Linda.

“Let’s come back and have a look around when we have a torch,” Linda suggested as a concession to get out of the cottage and on our way home.

I reluctantly hopped back out onto the porch where, to Linda’s delight, the rain had eased and we were able to step back outside into the light.

“Cor, it’s such a relief to be outside,” Linda asserted. It was so dark in there and the musty smell was getting to my sinuses.”

“Yes, the dust is making me itch everywhere. We will return tomorrow,” I assured Linda. The two of us began the long walk home.

“Oh I don’t know, Rodney,” Linda announced, looking down at a tear in her skirt. “I wish I’d never told you about the silly cottage. You ought to spend more time trying to find us a home to live in when we are married and less time on haunted houses,” she added with frustration.
“That’s it.” I announced having had a brain wave. “If only we can find out who owns the cottage, maybe we can buy it from them?” Linda stopped in her tracks and looked at me incredulously.

“You’re joking of course. Have you lost your mind, Rodney? Didn’t you notice the state of the house? It is awful. It is falling to pieces and even if you could buy it, where would you find the money to do it up?”

“Yes,” I insisted, noting Linda’s response, “after all it cannot be worth much as the house needs a lot of work done to it.”

“There may be no one alive to sell you the property, Rodney,” Linda prophesised . “Oh, it’s all pie in the sky,” she said, dismissing the subject, “let’s get home before it pours again.”

“Well,” I concluded, “we are going back tomorrow night with a couple of torches to have a good look around.”

“What for? You can go on your own.” Linda insisted, reneging on her promise. “There is no way am I going back into that house again.”

“Oh yes you are. You’re coming too.” I said forcefully, feeling offended that Linda should deliberately change her mind, although frankly I do it all the time, but that is beside the point. Linda saw hurt in my eyes, she knew for the sake of harmony she must accompany me tomorrow night even though she herself was far from keen on the idea.

Tomorrow soon arrived and at the dot of 6.00p.m. I was outside Linda’s home. Linda looked through the net curtains of the lounge and saw I had come equipped with a rucksack.

She waved through the window at me and noticed my impatience as I paced up and down the garden wall. I glanced at my watch every few seconds. Linda knew she could not keep me waiting much longer or she risked me being in a bad mood for the rest of the evening. She did not like to see me in a bad mood. I had a tendency to sulk for days on end.

Outside the house, I gave Linda a big smile and lifted her up in an enormous hug. I swung her around and around in my arms without her feet touching the ground. With one last enormous kiss, I released her and she slipped through my arms to the ground. Then she stood still for a second to allow the dizziness to pass.

“Wow! What has put you in a good mood tonight?” Linda asked.

“Come on,” I urged, “Let’s make the most of the daylight tonight. I have brought all we need.”

“Are we are going to the cottage?” Linda asked, knowing the answer. I nodded in agreement. “Oh, we don’t have to go, do we?”
“I have got two flashlights and loads of spare batteries,” I replied, showing her the contents of my rucksack. “I have even brought a pork pie with me in case we should get hungry.”

Linda wasn’t enthusiastic but she accepted the inevitable with silent resolve.

With each visit to the cottage, the vegetation appeared to get denser. We arrived at the cottage door out of breath. This time I had torn an inch long tear in my jeans on a piece of metal buried in the bushes. However, I did not worry about such a trivial thing; I had far too much on my mind to be bothered by such small matters. Linda looked visibly worried, knowing the time had come to enter the cottage once more.

“Are you absolutely sure this is legal?” Linda asked, presenting her final argument to keep us from going inside the house. “I mean, aren’t there laws to prevent people from going in and out of other people's homes without permission?” she added in a serious attempt to prick my conscience.

“Yes, yes, yes, you’re right as always, Linda,” I replied with frustration in my voice, “but, nobody is going to know are they? We are not going to do any damage or steal anything. I am just going to look around, that’s all. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. Come on, let’s go inside and take a look.”

“What if the police come?” Linda added, “They may not understand your innocent intentions. You might even forgive them for thinking we are burglars.”

“The police can hardly drive up to the front door, Linda. Besides, if nobody in the village knows this cottage is here then who is to know we are here now?” I said whilst rummaging in my rucksack to find the torches.

Linda resigned herself to the inevitable and took a flashlight from me. She fumbled to find the on and off switch and asked in a matter of fact voice:

“What if Thelma is still inside the cottage?”

“You can see the house is empty,” I answered incredulously.

“She could still be in there, Rodney.”

My face dropped. It would appear that this scenario had not crossed my mind. I stood silently for a few moments as I pondered the problem. Then with a short smile, I replied,

“Nonsense, the cottage has not been lived in for twenty years, this much we know for certain. In that time somebody must have checked on Thelma.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Linda said forcefully. “Think about it, Rodney, the house has not been sold, or passed on to anybody. It has been left to decay and become overgrown. What if Thelma had no friends? She may have fallen ill and died in the cottage and still be there today. If she had no friends and died in the house who would ever know? The mail would stop arriving and the milk deliveries would cease after awhile. Creditors would knock at the door to inquire about unpaid bills and after awhile would eventually go away. Then,” Linda said after a pause for breath and for dramatic effect, “the house would stand empty until it looks like it does today.”

This made me pause for thought and I turned off my flashlight while I once again mused over Linda’s remarks.

“There is only one way to find out,” I announced. This brought a chill to Linda’s body. I quickly noted the colour drain from the girl’s face. I smiled to help her relax and said

“Don’t worry. If you are right and Thelma has passed away in the house, it would have happened twenty years ago, she will just be a bag of cloth and bones now.”

“Oh, charming,” Linda replied to the seemingly callous remark. “It will still be an upsetting sight, not something I am going to relish seeing. If that was a silly attempt to cheer me up, forget it, Rodney.”

“I am just being practical.” I said in defence. “There is nothing any longer to fear. I promise we will be respectful. Besides,” I added in after thought, “if you are right, and the poor lady did die alone, then it is time somebody took an interest, if only to allow the woman to be buried properly.”

It appeared to be Linda’s turn to take the moral high ground, she now had to decide for the pair of us whether to proceed and enter the cottage. Linda did not relish the thought of going inside the dark and dank house, but now felt that maybe it was a good idea, we had a legitimate purpose that no one would criticise, our mission to ensure Thelma had not died in the house, unnoticed for all these years. She reluctantly nodded her head in approval.

We both tested and switched on our flashlights and gave each other a long look of trepidation before entering the porch. There was no time for fear and second thoughts, each of us had made up our minds. I opened the door wide and shone my torch inside, moving the bright beam of light around the room.

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