The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

pungent aroma of things long past their best before date. Nothing of interest that she could detect. Had whatever jumped her been the cause of the ceasefire between dog and cat? Returning to the doorway she checked outside again. Still nothing there. Clutching at the architrave she realised how wonderful that was. The hairs on her body had stopped prickling (although that could have been because they were welded to her skin with perspiration, not necessarily because she felt safe). Stepping out into the rain, she hurried back up the yard, taking the most direct route, whilst staying clear of doorways and windows in case anything else leaped out at her. She had had enough scares for one day.
    As she cleared the last row of buildings and the farmhouse came into sight, she spied Tabby, sitting in the doorway, drying herself with her tongue. Seeing her, Tabby lifted up her head and gave a small, cat-like bark before trotting out to greet her, tail high. Walking on her toes, she circled Meli’s legs, purring loudly.
    “What’s going on?“ Meli asked as she stretched out her hand to pet the moggy, but before she could quite touch her, the cat stepped away, just out of reach. Arching her spine, she glanced over her shoulder and gave her tail a come-hither flick. It seemed like she wanted Meli to follow. Intrigued, Meli stepped closer, and Tabby stepped away. Repeating the process, Meli was led to the entrance. When Tabby gave the door a firm shove with her nose, it opened four inches; just enough for her to bend her wiry body around the frame so she could slide snake-like through the gap. Should she follow? Meli was torn, feeling both curious, yet petrified. She glanced up the trail, rising behind her, where she could just make out the tops of the trees at the back of the lodge. There was no one home but the boys, she couldn’t ask them to come with her.
    From inside came an urgent meowing. On resisting feet she crept forward, stooping under the prickly overhang of spider infested creepers that tried to catch at her hair. The door had swung closed again. Meli pushed it back as far as it would go on its hinges, cringing as for good effect they gave a long and chilling horror-movie groan. She stared into the gloomy passageway, reeling at the terrible stench. Reaching into her pocket she took out a tissue, and held it to her face as she stepped inside. Moving in two paces she picked up a shovel which was resting against the wall, and resisting the urge to take it with her as a weapon, she used it to prop the door open with. Better in the event of needing a quick getaway. She noticed almost instantly that there was no sight of the rifle. That wasn’t necessarily comforting.
    “Else,” the tissue, now sodden from her wet skin, disintegrated in her fingers, as her muffled voice echoed hollowly in the mausoleum. She half expected to see stuffed animal heads on the walls, but there weren’t any, just the remains of long faded brown wallpaper, decorated with damp patches of green and black mould. She shook her mane of hair, sending a shower of water around her, shivering in the grip of the icy interior. Trying not to touch anything she pressed on, working her way along the hazardous passage, over and around stacks of old newspapers and magazines, boxes and sacks; things crunching beneath the soles of her sandals. Her imagination pictured cockroaches. She had to force herself to keep going. A door opened on her right. Peering in she decided that beneath the junk and litter, that this must be the kitchen. She was glad Elsa had never invited them for a meal. She didn’t go in. Turning away she moved further along to a doorway on the left.
    The interior was in total darkness, trapped behind thick blanket type curtains, and from somewhere in the room, Meli could hear the buzz of several flies. “Elsa, are you there?” She swallowed on a surge of saliva; somewhere, a pair of eyes were watching her. If only the curtains were open she might have been able to see who was there. She was too scared to cross the room to go and open them herself. There was nothing for it but to feel for a light switch. Grimacing as her fingers encountered what felt like floss wallpaper, but she suspected was more likely to be some repulsive form of hairy mildew, she worked them along the wall, thinking that even if she found the switch, she would probably be risking life and limb by using it. Inching along they encountered a greasy, plastic cover