text: &#x200B; In the town on the way up to the cottage, I buy lightbulbs, bread, and a new hunting knife. The salesman is a gruff old man in tatty Camo shorts and a grey t-shirt, with the look of a veteran about him. This man is wider than I was tall, a wall of meat, but despite his outward appearance is was kind and charming. That's most of what convinced me to buy the knife in the first place. From there it’s another hours drive and a twenty minute trek up the hill, once my car can go no further. Half way I spot the aptly named halfway house, boarded up and rotting. Its a ghost story, something we tell the kids every year as we bring them up. Apparently a mad monk used to live in there, some unknown time ago, and he would horde money in the chimney. One day he tried to get it out and got stuck, and now he haunts the little cabin ever since. Some of the newer staff assume I make the story up, but really I don’t know where it came from. I was told it when I was little, and I’m sure the previous leader was told the same. Finally I get to the bridge that marks the entrance to our land, and spot the cottage atop the final hill. The sheep are keeping their distance for now, though no doubt they will have swarmed the house by morning. You need to go up every now and then to do maintenance, to keep everything in order. This is no challenge, my day job is as a plumber, but its still never pleasant to rip out the pipe leading in to the stream under the bridge, or deal with the decrepit toilet and sink inside. Before I put in the key I turn the knob out of habit, and to my surprise the door creaks open. The lights are on, as is the heating. No one was supposed to come out here for at least another week, not until I got everything sorted out. I pull my new knife out of its sheath, and watch my steps as to not be too loud on the stone floor. “Hello?” I yell, “Anybody in here?” The lightbulbs, a row of four awkwardly wired in to the mantle, flicker and sizzle. The third always burns out, its the only one I ever have to replace. I weave around the wooden table and chairs, and begin to climb the stairs to the cramped second floor. “This is your last warning, leave now and we won’t have any trouble.” Footsteps tap behind the door to the bedroom. “I’ll give you to the count of three, when I come in put your hands up, I want any weapon on the ground.” My heart beats against my chest and in my ears as I begin to twist the doorknob. “1” “2” I hold out as long as I can, hoping to give the intruder more time to reconsider. Without a three, I barge through the now open door, knife raised, yelling like an ancient warrior going in to battle. A figure swaddled in blankets screams as I enter the room. Andy. He puts his hands up, and I lower the knife. “Wha\\t are you doing here you silly bastard?” He adjusts his hearing aid. “Sorry Gareth, should have called, I thought it was free this weekend.” “You gave me a fucking heart attack.” “I'm sorry, I thought I’d come up for a few days, enjoy the peace and quiet.” Andy is a Jr officer, about twenty two or twenty free, I’m not sure. He has dark blond hair down to his neck and a scraggly neck-beard. As my nephew, he has been the glad enjoyer of a vast degree of nepotism, but I can only handle so much. “Next time you come up here, call me, yeah? I almost stabbed you for gods sake.” “If I had heard you, I could have defended myself.” he says, nodding to the old axe leaning against the wall. I figure it could chop flesh as good as it could firewood, so im glad his hearing aids were switched off, for once. “What were you even doing?” “Well I was trying to sleep, its not easy with all those damn birds screeching all the time.” I rake my fingers through my hair, strain setting in to my jaw. “Fine. But from now I’m going to have to ruin your peace and quiet. I'm going to be up here doing repairs all weekend. And far from napping all day, you can help me. Call it payback for nearly sending me to the emrgency room.” “Says the guy who waved a knife at me.” “yeah, and I still have that knife bucko, so maybe be a little more polite.” Andy chuckles, turning back off his hearing aid. Enough excitement for one day, time to make a fire. Just before I set off, I remember the lightbulbs. I swap them all out, not paying any special attention to the third. No more flickering, for now. I really should get the wiring fixed, but that's not really my expertise. Andy is training to be an electrician, but at this rate I will have a better chance of becoming prime minister than he will of finishing his training. I take the axe, and lay it against a log next to the fire pit. A tree grows just outside the cottage, in the perimeter of the thin metal fence, but we decided long ago we wouldn’t chop that down. Its been with the Boys Brigade longer than I have. And anyway, there are plenty of other trees, and sticks laying around - the farmer wont mind me taking some. The fire is finished just as it begins to get dark. I arrange the wood in a pyramid shape, sprinkle over some lighter fluid, and light the kindling. Before long it crackles and spits, puffs of ash stinging my eyes and smoke burning my throat. I tried calling to Andy, telling him to come down and enjoy the fire, but he doesn’t listen. Probably has me on mute again. In want of company, I fiddle with my radio. I turn the knob, filtering through the static to see if I can pick up any local stations. Never been a fan of those big corporate stations, playing songs everyone knows. I like the rustic feel, bands who probably couldn’t even sell five tickets, who will never release an album. That's why I like radio, its impermanent - not recorded. A particular order of songs will only ever happen once. Finally, I turn to a local news channel. Nothing much to note. ‘Farmer x reports sheep missing’, ‘Police break up rave in abandoned barn’, that sorta thing. I zone out, enjoying the static and the aestheticism of the thing, until a phrase catches my attention. “...advise everyone nearby, lock your doors.” I begin to worry I’ve missed crucial information, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Out of all the things, its a strange feeling to have the police call you. I answer immediately. “Hello?” “Good evening sir, this is Constable Wortham.” “What can I do you for Constable?” “Bad news I'm afraid sir. Do you have a weapon at hand?” “Erm, yeah. A knife and a wood axe. Why? Are they having an amnesty?” “A little more serious than that. Are you familiar with Everwood prison?” “Yes sir, its just a few miles down the road.” “Exactly. We have received reports that a prisoner has escaped. He is extremely dangerous, and likely armed. Stay inside, lock your door, and don’t build a fire.” His last words chilled me, I watch as embers sizzle and fly in front of me. “do you understand?” “yes sir,” I stutter. “Good. Its probably nothing, just better same than sorry.” “Definitely. Definitely.” After this, the Constable politely ends the call and hangs up, as If he hasn’t just dropped a massive weight on my shoulders. First things first, the fire. “Andy, Andy.” I yell as I run up the stairs, adjusting his hearing aid, he grimaces. “What?” I explain the situation, and he looks at me with a sort of bored panic. “Come with me, we need to put this fire out.” “How do we do that?” “Fetch the buckets, go down to the stream. I’ll start getting water from the sink.” “Why do I have to go down to the stream?” he whines. “Fine, fine. I’ll do that.” I say, murmuring insults under my breath. I take a torch and the large metal bucket, and walk down the hill to the stream. Its nearly pitch black now, and the torch provides my only light, beaming out like a tunnel in front of me. I dredge the bucket through the water, trying to avoid stones and bits of driftwood, when I hear a rustling in the reeds. Knife, where have I put the knife? Its in my pocket, but I put it in my off hand for safe keeping. Its still sheathed, but it makes me feel more comfortable. After the third pass, the bucket is full, and heavy enough to make me lopsided. I grasp my knife wielding hand to the handle, supporting the other, and pressing the wooden grip in to my palm. Quickly however, I realise the obvious. I cant hold the bucket, the knife, and the torch at the same time. Weighing up my options, I put away the blade. I begin my trek back up the hill, when the rustling starts up again. Like scratching, or shuffling, through the long reeds, something splashes in the water. I peer over, projecting my light in to the stream. “Quack.” Greets the duck, staring up at me with blank eyes. I chuckle, and carry the water back up the hill. When I return, Andy is running too and fro, tossing a small glass of water on the fire each time. Dumbass. With one large throw of the bucket, most of the fire is dying down, and I stamp down the rest. “Nice job Andy, we will make a firefighter of you yet.” “Oh shove off, its not my fault we didn’t have anything bigger.” “The bowls? A vase? No?” He adjusts his hearing aid, and walks back in to the cottage. Fire dealt with, on to the next step. What did the constable say? Lock the door. When I get inside however, I notice the lock is completely broken. Andy, most likely. Impatient fool, I spot him lounging on the sofa. Still, neither of them were locksmiths, so there was nothing to be done. I pat a hand on his back, and he turns his artificial ears back on. “Yeah?” “Locks busted.” “Not my fault.” “Whose fault it is isn’t the point. I wouldn’t feel safe leaving that door unlocked at the best of times, and with that maniac on the loose...” “You don’t know he’s a maniac. He could have been put away for, like, tax evasion or something.” “Extremely dangerous, that's what the Constable said. Oh, you’re no use. Go and lie down upstairs, its all your good for.” “Fine. Suits me well. Just hope the killer gets you first, might get my peace and quiet back.” He laughs spitefully and then goes back upstairs. I can’t sleep in the same room as that oaf, so despite everything its the living room sofa for me. To address more important things, the door. I prop the Axe against it. It won’t keep anyone out, per se, but it might just warn me if anyone comes in. I set up my makeshift bed, turn out the lights, and play the radio on low. I doubt I’ll sleep much at all tonight. Taking out the knife from my pocket, I roll the handle in my hands. I may not be some beefy giant like the man who sold it to me, but I can protect myself well enough. And anyway, nothing will happen. There are tons of buildings between here and the prison. Why would he come here of all places? As I begin to dose off, rain begins to patter outside. It grows heavier and heavier as it pounds against the dirt paths, and I hear the first crack of thunder. Its almost comforting, like rain on a car roof. I awake to a great crack, but the rain has stopped. I grip the knife tighter, beginning to shake under my blanket. Looking over at the door, my worst fear is realised. The axe has fallen over. Surely there must be some simple explanation. The wind, probably, or maybe some stupid sheep looking for cover from the weather. I check my watch, 4 AM, still about an hour before it gets light. I hide my head under the blanket, and try to get back to sleep despite my racing heart and screaming mind. But I can’t do it. I'm restless, body and spirit. I force the blanket off my face, and then peel it down the rest of me, getting out of bed. I don’t stand up, just sitting on the edge. Waiting for my fear to pass. When suddenly, the door begins to creak open. I feel for my knife, staring at its sharpness. Am I prepared to use this on another human being? “Hello?” I whimper. The door opens wider and wider, footsteps coming closer and closer. Too many footsteps. “Baaaaa” Goes the sheep. I release my breath, and laugh at my stupidity. Just a sheep. I go over and close the door on its face, chasing the curious creature out. It isn’t yet light, so I turn the lights on myself. Now that the fear has passed, I don’t worry about anyone seeing. But then I notice something. The third light bulb on the mantle. It isn’t on, it isn’t flickering, it’s gone. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; ( Based on a true story.