A car drove along the deserted street, causing the man to stir. He flashed a glance towards the road. He set off taking fast strides in the direction of the house. As he got closer, he paused and raised a muscular arm, leading to a broad, hairy hand clasped around a revolver tightly and sighted down to the front of the house once again …
Chapter 2
The gate swung backwards and forwards disturbing the mysterious silence of the night with the eerie croaking of its rusty, un oiled hinges. The house was suspended in shadows. Its windows were enveloped in a green slime like moss, plastering the walls from the highest windows, down to the lowest, first floor windows. You could almost taste the stench of the drains in the front garden. Its front garden had a narrow, unsteady pathway lined with delicate, silky flowers. The lawn had been freshly cut. Grassland aroma spread as the current of air carried it along the abandoned road. Soaring oak trees rocked ferociously in the gale, buried in gloom. The dusty brown tiles on the roof were shuddering with the brutal whips of the downpour.
In the corner of the garden positioned in an awkward way was a tarnished grave stone with an engraving. It read:
R.I.P
Catherine Mchannonwick
Born 1961
Died 2003
It was sheltered in a midst of undergrowth of every type. It was obvious that it had not been visited frequently. The patch of grass that it stood in was yellow and parched.
The well-built oak doors leading inside the house were elevated, marked and grey. The grey paint had peeled which made the entrance seem older that it was. Beside this ancient door stood a poised, black dog gazing directly at the strangers cold, transfixed, blue eyes. Quivering, the dog moved away from the man hurriedly, as if suddenly shocked by 200 electric volts, whining like a wounded
Wolf.
Chapter 3
He spun round as a black, tarnished Mercedes turned off the road onto the filthy, neglected path that lead to the derelict house. The car had flecks of chocolate mud on both sides. You could tell it had come from a great distance. The number plate had worn away with age. It now only read:
K2 9 W O
Some of the lettering was missing but he knew it was what he had been waiting for…
The black Mercedes had a few scratches across the right hand side on the front door, just under the window, revealing the bronze, rusting metal beneath the dreary, black paint. It had 1….2….3 dents on the bumper.
Due to the dented bumper and malfunctioning windscreen wipers, it was obvious that the car had been damaged on purpose; maybe by the silent man waiting on the hill top…
The bumper was entirely enclosed with coffee like mud. Dirt and mud filled the drive of the ruined house, causing the wheels of the car to sink into the muck. The failed attempts of getting the car out of the mud made streaks of bronzed lines across the bottom half of the Mercedes.
Hurriedly, as if running from something, someone, the woman stepped out of the car. She wore a tight, pink top under a denim jacket over a pale, denim skirt. Her black boots were now buried up to her ankles in the filth of the drive. Bright, dazzling turquoise eyes glared around with suspicion. A diminutive, pasty hand reached up and flicked the silky, blond hair over the shoulder, away from the empty, expressionless face. She did not reveal any type of feeling what so ever.
He raised the rifle and aimed in the direction of the deprived house once again.
Chapter 4
Swiftly, the lady reached into her petite, pink bag and grasped her keys. She pulled them out with a sigh of relief. The golden key fitted into the vantage point and unlocked the ancient door with one sharp click.
At a snail's pace, she manoeuvred herself around the outsized puddles outside the house. She stopped dead in her tracks, slightly conscious, but too scared to glance behind her into the silence of the night. Trying to block out her feelings, she began to enter the house.
As if reading her mind, he knew she would pause again. Elevating his arm, he pointed his rifle at the back of the woman’s fair – haired head.
Animals scampered out of the woods with the deafening sound of the splattering blood and splintered bone echoed in the stillness, of the silent night. Within a split second the bullet had seized her life in an almost volcanic like eruption, draining her limp body down to her last drop of blood …
Chapter 5
An assassin.
He lifted his rifle and took it apart. Placing it in the pocket of his soiled coat, he made his way down to the house, where the limp body of the woman lay drowning in a pool of blood.
Arriving at the front of the uncivilised house, he tranquilly removed any signs of his presence, lifting the cigarette ends and cartridges out of the puddles one by one. Silently, he glided to his car without a care in the world. His conscience did not bother him at all. There was no change in his cold, motionless, blue eyes.
The end
