It was dark, as it often was as Jack made his way back up the road. The night was bitterly cold and the wind was howling forcing Jack to button his jacket even more tightly than usual. Jack hated walking back this way. The path that led up to his home was poorly lit with a solitary street light which seemed to do little more than mock him. Showing him what light looked like without giving off enough of it to actually make any difference. Up ahead in the fog he was sure he could see a couple. The wife had fallen over and the husband was leaning over trying to pick her up. Jack could barely see them through the fog and even as he drew near their faces remained pale. The smell of alcohol was potent, they were red wine drinkers Jack recognised the smell from one of his ex’s. Being kindly Jack offered some assistance."No thank you, me and my wife are fine," said the man however he soon however felt a nudge in his rib cage from his wife.
“Let the boy help us,” she said in a frosty voice that sent shivers down Jack’s spine. “Actually we could use some help if that is alright,” said the lady smiling insincerely. Jack went over and grabbed the lady by the arm and with the help of the man managed to hoist her up to her feet.
“I am so sorry, I think I have had too much to drink,” said the lady apologetically.
“That’s ok, happens to everyone,” smiled Jack. His eyes met the ladies for a moment.
“You would not believe I was a grandmother would you?”
“You flaming would!” said the husband laughing brashly. He looked at his wife who seemed far from impressed. “So where do you live mate?” asked the husband quickly changing the subject.
“Straight up the hill.”
“Oh so do we,” replied the man.
“Yeah I live above Dianne.”
The man looked at Jack strangely.
“Who’s Dianne?”
“Dianne has lived in seventeen chesterfield gardens for five years. You guys must not mix much.”
“No we keep ourselves to ourselves really,” conceded the husband.
“I think I know who she is,” said his wife.
“What are your names by the way?”
“I am Michael and this is Jean, we have not seen you round here before are you new?” asked Michael whilst trying to hold up his drunk wife.
“Yeah I only moved in last month.”
“Woops,” said Jean as her sandals slipped off.
“Why in God’s name did you wear sandals! Look at the state of them; you can leave them outside tonight.” Michael paused for a moment before wrapping his arm under Jean to ensure she did not slip again. “Oh for Christ's sake why do you always have to get so drunk!?” said the husband. At this moment an awkward silence settled over the trio making the journey up the hill even more agonising.
Jack was thankful they were nearing the top of the hill, he was getting sick of carrying Jean. As they arrived at the top of the hill by St Ursula’s school, the wife looked at Jack.
“Where do you live then?” asked Jack in a desperate attempt to break the silence.
“Well we actually live round the front but we find it easier to cut through the middle of the square.”
“Oh right well I guess this is where we part ways then,” smiled Jack.
“Thank you so much for your help you have been a darling,” said the women kissing him on the cheek suggestively.
The final approach to the house was the darkest part of the journey by far. Jack could see less than a metre in front of him. He fumbled for the stairs that led onto his patio and into his house. As he stepped on the porch he slipped on a pair of sandals that seemed to emerge from the fog. He managed to regain his balance. The shoes were only too familiar, the same ones the lady had been wearing but why had she left them in front of his door. As Jack opened the door and walked up the stairs, he heard someone behind him.
“You’re late!” said his wife “Where have you been? I was worried sick. I actually went out looking for you!” said his wife unbuttoning her coat.
“Sorry darling, I was helping carry a drunken person up the hill, one of our new neighbours.”
“I hope you did not do it by yourself,” said Jack’s wife softly.
“No her husband was with her.”
“What husband? You know this whole place is full of single parents.”
“Yeah I know and what is even weirder is that she left her shoes outside our front door.”
“Jack what are you talking about?”
“I came in behind you there are no shoes by the front door.”
“But I just tripped over them,” said Jack walking back down the stairs and peering out the door.
“You did not move them did you?” said Jack looking out the front door at the patio.
“What kind of stupid question is that!” said his wife.
“I must be going mad.... I am sure I recognised their names though.”
“What were they?”
“Jean and Michael,” said Jack.
“Yeah so do I and I remember where from, look at this. It's last week’s post,” said his wife holding up two of the letters.
“This one is for Jean and this one is for Michael.”
"Weird. I wonder what they're doing back here..." said Jack taking off his jacket.
Jack caught up with Dianne their neighbour the next day as she was pruning flowers in her flower bed. “Dianne, you know before we moved in....”
“Yes I remember the whole estate was a lot quieter,” said Dianne brashly.
“Yes but... that is not what I am asking about. How long ago did the past owners leave?”
"What they didn't leave? they died," said Dianne pulling out a weed. "He died before I came to the estate; she died about a month before you moved in, drunk herself to death poor thing.”
Jack gulped deeply. He wished he never asked.
Joseph Turner’s blog, Joe Turner blog, nowhere to be found, Nowhere to be Found, Matthew Deezat, A brush with the Past, writer’s blog, writers blog, writing blog, ghost stories, ghostly stories, joseph turner, Joseph Turner writer,joe turner writer, joseph ak turner , joseph a k turner,
gripping read, good read, good book, good novel, compelling read, compelling novel, gripping good read, gripping novel, gripping book, writing a gripping book, writing a book with pace, writing a compelling book, writing a compelling novel, writing crime thrillers, nowhere to be found, No where to be found, Unaccounted For, creating hooks in writing, writing kidnap stories, writing first novels, writing first novel, publishing on kindle, publishing through vanity publishers, unsolicited manuscripts, marketing your book, publish your novel online, first novel, picking a title for your novel, picking a title, publishing help, how anyone can write a book, joseph ak turner, saltaire writer, writing in saltaire, author in saltaire, author in bradford, local author, author in shipley, writers in shipley, writers in bradford, writers in saltaire, authors in Saltaire, authors in shipley, authors in shipley,
firstediting.com feedback, firstediting.com are rubbish,
