Page 7 of Meet Me After Life

He runs around the lounge to try to tire me out, but I catch wind of what he’s doing and launch myself over the back of it in a sort of ballerina-espue leap. He makes a break for the stairs to the second floor. I race up the steps behind him. There are two rooms at the top of the landing. He makes a split second judgement and takes the one on the right.

I run into the master bedroom behind him and watch him run towards the open window. ‘Skee-bop, stop!’ I scream.

He throws himself out the window. But in a remarkable display of acrobatics, he does a somersault and lands in a kneel like he’s one of the Avengers.

I catch my breath and allow the juice to run its course before turning back to take in the room. This is… decadent. Lush maroon velvet curtains frame tinted windows that overlook the forest to the right of the suburban house. An enormous four poster bed sits squarely in the middle of the room; a walk-in robe gapes like an open gullet at the foot of the bed.

‘Quirky.’

I stare into its dark depths and a shiver traipses down my spine, reminiscent of the same eerie feeling of being watched I’d had staring into that ominous spiral staircase. I try not to dwell on the corners of the closet that house a much heavier darkness.

‘And spooky.’

I might just shut this for now... The door protests, refusing the ache in its rusted hinges, before finally relenting and slamming in my face. A small shriek leaves my lips, and I trip over my own feet and land on my arse. Luckily, the shag rug style carpet cushions my fall. I sit a moment, let my fingers stroke through the rug that’s probably teeming with dust mites and all sorts of flesh-eating bacteria, but is rather textually pleasant. My eyes leisurely wander the room from a new angle.

Well… it’s more space than I’ve ever had before – that’s for sure. So much space, I don’t know how I’ll get used to how quiet it is. I suppose that could be a brightside, right? Space can be… lonely nice.

I give in to the urge to lie in the embrace of the shag rug’s soft little fingers, letting it hold me a while longer, since no one else ever does. My eyes close. I lie back and reduce my senses to intake nothing more than the feeling of fibres brushing against my skin. It sends shivers through my body, like a lover’s caress. How sad. I must admit, fantasising about my carpet groping me is low, but unfortunately not an all-time. Clearly, it’s been too long again since a physical encounter with the opposite sex. I need to get…

Dear Stars!

What in the ever-loving depthless universe is with the previous owners being enamoured with feature ceilings?

If I’d known what lurked over me, I wouldn’t have opened my eyes.

Above me is a painted mural of something I don’t quite know how to describe in modern language… or any language for that matter. It appears to be some sort of documented sexual encounter between man and guitar. All I know is that that is a lot of skin. I quickly look away. Was that the last owner? There’s no way that thing was painted to scale. Who has a mural like that painted onto their own bedroom ceiling? Taking BDE to new heights. A laugh bubbles up and out from my lips.

I sneak another look at the ceiling, as if I might be caught out for perving by the mural. Those steely grey eyes do look rather all-knowing. But obviously, there has been some creative liberties taken. I think, eyeing… There’s no way that’s an honest depiction of his actual body.

I hear a thump somewhere across the room and I jump a little. It’s probably just some of the trees from the Bantom Forest edging the outside of the house with their branches. Or the demon cock.

As my head falls in the direction of the totally explainable sound, I spy another door. Getting to my knees, I crawl across the floor and open it, to find my beautiful, shining, real brightside #3. I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my lips if I wanted to.

Oh, I think yes.

I’m about to make very, very good use of brightside #3.

Chapter Three

The Neighbour.

My lux bath in the decadent clawfoot tub of my new ensuite is cut mournfully short by more of those ominous thumps. Clad in nought but a shrunken, moth-bitten towel I found beneath the sink, I go to investigate. My bare feet slap against the floor as I take the stairs two at a time. I stomp out the back door, confront the overgrown lawn, and skirt the corner of the building, only to find a very haughty Oracular Tree taking out her frustrations on the side of my home.

Oracular Trees are incredibly insightful, prophetic, and cunning beings. I’ve only ever met one other at a travelling circus. She lived in a large clay pot and charged three cracked golden goose eggshells to tell you your fortune. Pretty steep if you ask me, but I paid it regardless. Burying my offering into the cold, damp soil, she’d recited that I would traverse the skies, and the key to the North Star lay within my heart. Very pretty words. It was all gibberish nonsense, of course. But it was enough to coax my young foolish heart to believe I might one day breach the confines of my socio-economic status and transcend to the elite ranks of the inner city, united with Tilly, at last… Obviously, that wasn’t quite the case. Perhaps that fortune was meant for the ogre cueing behind me.

Now, back to the problem at branch.

‘Oh, you bastard!’ She slaps against the poor wooden beam.

This does not bode well for me.

‘Um, excuse me.’

A final swat against the wooden boards resounds in the space between us, before finally there’s a reprieve in her onslaught.

The forest seems to hold its breath as the trunk of her body swivels, the wood creaking, bark ripping and littering the ground. Her eyes scan me from the top of my sopping head to the tips of my chipped polished toes. I can’t help but think her assessment of me is less than flattering, if the curl of her upper lip is any indication.

‘What do you want?’ she snaps, and levels me with a glare. Her leaves whip against her trunk as her head tilts defiantly, branches braced like a moody teen with her hands on her hips.