Jessyca

Silence. Throughout the old two storey house everything was quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic tick tock of the old grandfather clock in the hall; evelen chimes rang out, each clanging loudly before the ticking resumed. A sickly, pale yellow light came from a room on the second floor; the faded oak door propped open by a statuete; a half-naked woman screaming in pain; her face showing the grotesque horror being inflicted upon her body.

The soft scratch, scratch of a fountain pen against the crisp white sheets of paper, seemingly out of place in the more delapidated room. Faded portraits hung around the room, shadows forming on the wall from the solitary light thrown out from the lamp. Faded curtains, a sad rose print covering them, hung limply over the window, the smell of decay evident. A thin layer of grime covered everything else in the room, large cobwebs slung over a few of the eaves.

A man was hunched at the desk, rapidly writing as the pen moved over the paper before him. His back was weirdly shaped, the hands gnarled and withered, with a particularly violent shake in the left. The light from the lamp illuminated the rough angles of his face, the thick unshaven growth that covered his face and the haggard and worn lines that were etched deep into his skin.

Suddenly the pen stopped; hand quickly folding the paper in half and then half again. It was slipped into a pristine envelope, a solitary name across the front. "Jessyca." Running a tired hand over his face he flicked the lamp off, picking up the letter and making his way down-stairs to the foyer entrance. A date on the calender, the 25th of December, his careful and precise writing bold. "Jess and the kids. 11:30am." Shuffling slightly he placed the envelope on the table in the entrance hall just as the clock struck 12 and 12 chimes sounded through the hall.

As the last chime sounded the old man found himself weeping, salty tears coursing down his face. His hands shook violently, almost spilling the brightly coloured pills across the cupboard; the paint cracked and peeling. As it was a few slipped from his hands due to the shake and taking a deep breath he formed them into smaller piles; the pipes groaning in protest as he filled a glass with water and promptly swallowed the lot.

Wiping the few stray drops from his mouth he returned to the stairs, resting a hand on the filthy banister. He was half-way up when his body gave way, shutting down even as he wavered, teetered and then fell, landing in a crumpled head at the foot of the stairs.