A brief introduction to a story I started writing.
It had been many years since I had dared look upon the moon in all her majesty, to feel on my skin the gentle rays that were the opposite to the harsher rays of her morning counterpart. The soft silver light of the moon being at full bloom lit my way as I followed the winding path that led to my childhood nightmare.
You might ask why I would return here, what I possible could achieve as I left the main highway and walked a path that was overgrown and hadn’t be travelled for many a year. Yet here I was; the brittle autumn leaves that had fell from the trees crunching under my feet, my breath freezing in front of me like the smoke of cigarette.
I was scared, following a path that I hadn’t walked since childhood, a path that led to a small cottage that once belonged to my beloved Grandmother. The memories of freshly cooked biscuits and the sweets she kept hidden from my young hands had long ago been blocked out by darker fear inducing visions of her death.
No child should have to witness that, and her death was one to go down in history. So much blood and the screaming. I had lay cuddled under my patchwork bed covers has I heard her screaming, mixing with my own sobs; and at the centre of my nightmare was the eyes. Yellow and cunning eyes, the eyes of something I didn’t want to think about, and of something no one would or wanted to believe, and now twenty five years on my thirtieth birthday I was going to revisit the cottage.