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End of the line
Start the video then read the story, the vid needs to keep repeating so if you know how to loop it then do that
The door wasn’t locked. Detective inspector James pushed it open. The hinges squealed their protest of the disturbance. The policeman stepped into the hall.
The first thing he noticed was the smell.
‘Hello? Mr Dawson?’
The hall was lit with a single naked bulb burning through the dust encrusted upon it. He stepped over two day old mail laid upon the floor. Somewhere in the house there was music playing. He walked through the hall on bare worm eaten floorboards, his footsteps echoing in the room.
‘Mr Dawson? Police, can we have a word please?’
The kitchen was empty The sink was full of dirty plates., A milk bottle stood half full of curds and whey ,pans on the carbon encrusted cooker with the remnants of several meals within them. The only life was the green mould. The only smell, decay.
He turned from the kitchen and followed the sound of the music. He checked another door, It opened into the sitting room. The curtains were drawn entombing the room in a dreary light. He turned on the light switch. The threadbare carpet on the floor was strewn with several days worth of newspapers and clippings but the articles cut out were missing. Several empty cans of lager and an empty bottle of whiskey were on the floor beside the only chair in the room. The television in the corner was off channel and the snowstorm screen whispered white noise.
James turned from the room and walked along the hall to the stairs, The song began again. The forth time, Same melancholy tune. James shivered through his coat. He began the walk up the stairs. The glockenspiel rang out
‘A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain
Softly blows o'er lullaby bay.’
His footsteps on the bare woodwork echoing in time to the music mournfully crying out the tune somewhere ahead of him.
‘Mr Dawson? Are you up here?’
’It fills the sails of boats that are waiting--
Waiting to sail your worries away.
It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain
And your boat waits down by the quay.’
The stairs beneath him screeched on every step forward. Sweat appeared on his brow, every footfall was an effort, every muscle in his legs, protesting advance, to turn round. Go back, but his training willed him on.
’The winds of night so softly are sighing--
Soon they will fly your troubles to sea.
So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain.
Wave good-bye to cares of the day.’
At the top of the stairs the door to his right was open, the room was empty, the one to his left closed to but not latched. He reached out a hand and pushed open the door.
‘And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain
Sail far away from lullaby bay.’
The music died off.
‘Oh my God , You stupid man’
In front of him, the limp body of Michael John Dawson, hanging from the roof purlin by a single thin blue rope. Part of the ceiling had been pulled down and a blanket of dust coated everything. In the corner the CD player began its mournful refrain once more. The glockenspiel introduction lamenting the scene in the room
‘A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain
Softly blows o'er lullaby bay.’
’It fills the sails of boats that are waiting--
Waiting to sail your worries away.’
The detective walked over to the desk in the room and turned off the cd player.
Posted by Waasyon on 2009-07-05 06:20:59 | Rating: | Views: 50
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