Under the Ashes

Disclaimer: This is a constantly (slowly) evolving story and may be any/all of: incomplete, incoherent, incomprehensible, and inconvenient. The story is an experiment and not a neatly rounded tale. You can read more about its background and shortcomings.

New material was last added on 31st August 2002.

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Under The Ashes

by Gavin Inglis

Only three of us turned up in the end; myself, Kirsten and Andrew. We met in the darkness, lashed by rain under a stunted tree. The storm had broken half an hour before midnight.

We heard the church bells tolling twelve, far away through the downpour, but we waited a few sodden moments longer, to be absolutely certain it was now the 8th of June 1994. Our excuses finally ran out. We exchanged nervous glances before heading up the path to the house.

Nobody expected to have an easy time facing up to the past. The other two hadn’t even made it this far. But we weren’t prepared for the sheer hatred that filled the air of that place, an almost tangible sensation which seemed to press down from the house itself. My throat was dry as we pushed open the blackened iron gate and walked up towards the house.