Strange Visitor

As always when he got back from the hospital Henry stood on the doorstep trying and failing to find the right key.

The house was familiar, had been home when he was a child and now seemed almost to resent him for going away or for coming back at all. That was why the key always seemed to skitter away from his hand, hiding amongst its identical brothers and sisters until he was cold and frustrated enough for a point to have been made.

At last Henry found the key, turned it in the lock and pushed his way into a house that had stopped being a home and had turned instead into a dozen empty rooms gathered around a lot of silence.

The hallway was dim and looked no different than it had when he was a boy. There was still an old fashioned telephone on a table resting on a pile of even older directories, framed prints of sea scenes and landscapes on the walls. The only change was a plastic calendar with sliding months and numbers, fixed forever on the 15th January, the day his father went into hospital.

Henry could have walked through every room of the house with his eyes closed, navigating its landmarks by memory without need for stars or compass. On that afternoon though something felt different, out of place even.


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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)