The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

her side on spongy paws, thrashing his tail with pleasure.
    Outside, progress down the overgrown verges of the trail that separated the two properties was tortuously slow, hampered by Dog’s insistence that he cocked his leg at every pillar, bush, weed; in fact anything that protruded above ground level by even one inch was sniffed and targeted. Meli began to think that the dog consisted entirely of liquid, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d got thinner and thinner until he resembled a dried tobacco leaf, which of course didn’t happen.
    Ambling slowly by his side gave Meli an opportunity to think about what she would say to Elsa. Oh, thank you for the lovely present, but the twins are allergic to dogs. Or maybe Cal had an allergy? Maybe Cass could have asthma? Or could she just say that they didn’t like dogs?
    Brambly Hollow Farm appeared around the bend. What might once have been a picture postcard farmhouse, was now more likely to be featured in a Hammer House of Horror movie: barren and godforsaken, where the bronchial corpses of long dead creepers clung to the dank stone walls, throttling the cracked and blackened windows, gathering in dense, spiny bunches over the doorway, its gnarled fingers clutching at the impenetrable, ancient studded wooden door, drawn towards the sinister passageways and chambers within. A natural habitat for Elsa. Meli shook herself, amused by her own fanciful imagination.
    Underfoot, the dirt track hardened into concrete, where the only greenery was supplied by densely populated beds of nettles and an abundance of weeds that sprouted through the many cracks that ran like varicose veins across the ground. To her right, derelict outhouses and barns were monuments to what had probably been a thriving farm in its day, and Meli wondered what would happen when Elsa died? Would it be bulldozed into a heap of dust coated rubble and cobwebbed, forgotten memories? Despite the sorry state of the place it was full of atmosphere, cram packed with more than its fair share of archived adventures and tragedies, and its own home grown ghosts, and she found it sad to think that it might be sold to someone who only saw its commercial value. But then she remembered the birthday card. Maybe there were little Elsa’s’ somewhere, just waiting to inherit the property?
    Reaching the house, she ducked her head under the skeletal fingers of the creepers and rapped firmly on the heavily encrusted brass knocker, trying not to think about any disturbed spiders that might have dropped down and were at that moment preparing to crawl down her neck. Instinctively her fingers reached up and pulled the neck of her top tighter against her flesh as she visibly trembled. Beyond the thickness of the door, with its peeling green paint, she heard the sound sucked away into the deep bowels. Stepping back she ran her eyes over the frontage, waiting for Elsa. Several panes of glass were cracked or missing, replaced by either sheets of plastic or plywood, and the wooden sills and reveals were rotted, and in places, whole sections had crumbled away. They looked like they’d been attacked by an infestation of giant woodworm.
    There was no answer; well there was no answer from any human source, let alone Elsa, although her knocking hadn’t been totally ignored. Meli shrank backwards as six of the biggest spiders she had ever seen before in her life, glided down invisible threads and glared at her, flexing their thick, hairy legs in some arachnid ritual, which, if it was intended to be scary, was definitely working. Sentries, she wondered? Daring her to approach again? Overcoming her repulsion of man eating, or in this case woman eating spiders, she bravely darted forward, stooped almost double, and rapped sharply on the door again. Mission completed, she leaped back, and went flying over an equally shocked Dog, who was almost glued to her heels. With a jolt, she landed on her bottom, legs akimbo, her teeth clattering in her jaws as her hair was pitched upwards in a tidal wave before cascading over her face. Parting the wild waterfall into two streams that ran down either side of her cheeks, she glared out. Green and brown eyes exchanged accusing looks. Feeling unexpectedly vulnerable, sprawled at the feet of the towering farmhouse, Meli scrambled upright. She noticed that the sentries had all vanished.
    Indignantly, and with one flick of her head, she poured her hair back over her shoulders while brushing her