Thursday, January 18, 2007

The Country House Story - Part I

Scene 1:
The horse plodded over the cobbled stone path leading to the driveway of the antiquated house. Jack Mason was relieved. Finally. The incredibly herculean task of guiding his horses in such an incredibly foggy clime at such an incredible hour was finally done with. He could have avoided this circumstance had it not been the alluring reward of 10 mighty pound sterlings. The nobleman also seemed too desperate and troubled to get to this country house, unmindful of the hour and travails the journey involved.

All's well that end's well, he thought in his Yorkshire accent.

Mr. Myers alighted from the coach and instinctively eyed the top left window of the house through the enveloping midnight fog. The emanating orange glow calmed his nerves and he put on his black hat before rummaging through his wallet.

Aye Sir, yaa have been ery kind to drop me ere at this ungodly hour. Ere's yaa payment n a extra pound to convey ma appreciation.

Its ma pleasure, Sir.
Jack plucked at the wealth offered to him, staring at him. With that, he hit the whip and chugged his horse wagon to life en route to Westminster.

Mr. Myers navigated a key onto the lock and whirled it round. The door sprung open with a creaky noise. In no time, it was banged shut from the inside.

As Jack jostled past the driveway gates, he managed a slight glance at the eerie window - a human silhoutte moving past its curtains. He whipped his horses harder. Somewhere not too far a dog howled. A long and scary night ahead.

Scene 2:
The minicab swerved into the driveway overlooking a medieval house. Pathan Khan had never imagined dropping a passenger for a 100 pound fare. Of course, it was way past midnight. Of course, it was way too foggy. Of course, it was way too remote - even the Gods would need a map. Despite his initial nays and hesitation to drive this far, the pound power ultimately lured him. The Bishop had seemed very nervous. All through the way, the Bishop was quietly mumbling silent prayers, crossing his handheld Cross every minute and pondering over Latin Gothic books. There was some inherent palpable fear clearly felt in the backseat of the car.

Weird people, weird ways!, he thought in his Lahore accent.

Father Benny pushed open the car door in a haste and handed over the prize to the lustful waiting hands.

Thank ya son for that quick ride. May God bless ya.

Not a problem, Mister. Good place here. Far. Bye.

Father Benny sprang to the house door despite the darkness and rang the doorbell. A light flared up in the top left window. A pavement light lit up into action immediately.

Pathan turned on the ignition and jerked the vehicle into motion. Slowly. He was curious to see the occupants of this abjectly desolate country house. As he slowly purred his car to the end of the driveway, he glanced back at the house door through the thickening fog.

An old nobleman with a black hat opened the door and let Father Benny in. The door was shut in an instant.

Weird people, weird ways, Pathan thought. Just as he sprung his minicab into second gear, a loud shriek percolated the air. Fourth gear. Zoom. Somewhere not too far a dog howled. A long and scary night ahead.

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2 Comments:

Blogger priya said...

Oh boy!!! both lingual words and pronounciation vary and sow eird when both accuse each other what they say.

10:44 AM  
Blogger itchingtowrite said...

good one. came here thru priya's blog. my son's name is same as yours therefore got interested. nice fictions u hav written

9:24 PM  

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