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The Face

We just bought this dinky, little cottage, and the moment we set eyes on it, something just clicked. It was like it was just meant to be; love at first sight.

     It was a plump, cream cottage that squatted there proudly amongst the others, with a faded, light red roof that had neatly slotted tiles. The door was white and a bit paint-chipped, but it had wonderful, red climbing roses around the edge of the door, its emerald leaves overhanging like a secret opening. The cosy, white windows had little old-fashioned wooden doors on either side, hearts cut out in the middle of them.

     Our front garden had a twisty, stony path with yellow pebbles that led up to our door, grass on both sides, and we were growing honeysuckle and bluebells on one edge, and roses on the other. We also had a small, metal, white gate that made a soft, squeaking noise when we opened and closed it.

     Our back garden consisted of a full green lawn, with a wooden patio, a lovely, big, oak tree in the middle, a few deck chairs and a trampoline. It may not be much, but it was our beautiful, little cottage, and we had it.

     Meanwhile, we were all in the back garden. My mum was rooting around in some corner, digging up weeds and checking the compost bin; my dad was lounging in a deck chair, and reading a newspaper. Me? Well, I was halfway up the oak tree, shinning up it like a squirrel.

     “You alright there, Harriet?” My dad asked.

     “Great!” I answered back with a grin on my face.

     I sat down comfortably on a big branch, pulled back my ‘curtains’, which were really just a lot of thick oak leaves on one branch, and peered out.

     This was my favorite place to be, high up, away from the others, alone, feeling like I could step out any moment and be soaring through the sky, swooping in between chimneys and rooftops.

     I always like looking next door, because it always appeals to me, and looks mysterious. It isn’t a normal cottage like most of us, but a big, two-storey, semi-detached house. It looked old to me.

     There was a dark brown roof, brown windows that always had its curtains closed, and it was a grey-ish color overall. The front garden was a mess of weeds and thistles (oh, wouldn’t my mum love to clean that up!), and from where I could see in the tree, the back garden was too.

     Altogether, it looked like no-one lived there, so I was a bit suspicious. When I mentioned this to my mum, she just told me not to worry about it.

     “I’m sure the builders will notice, maybe mend it in any possible way, so someone can buy it again. Maybe they’ll even knock it down, and build a new one. Just don’t get your hopes up. There’s nothing to worry about.” My mum had said.

     Though, there was something that happened that day while I was in the tree that made me doubt that there was no-one living there.

     I was looking closely at the farthest window, in the top right corner, a small, block-square one, when I thought I saw something move.

     The curtains twitched. Suddenly, as I looked even more closely, that I saw a very pale, grey face looking out of the window. I think I could even see through it.

     And it was looking at me.