Writing for Fun
Her Forever Home - Gerry Miller
October 2014
Laura felt the moment that she saw the house that it was to be her forever home. Martin procrastinated as was his way, but eventually she won, after all he was away half the year. The cottage was down a tree lined lane and Laura knew it would be a place of beauty all year round. Yes she did agree with Martin it was a bit dilapidated and the garden was quite on the wild side, but she reassured him that it would keep her busy whilst the children were at school and he was at work.
Surprisingly the sale moved very quickly and the previous owners willingly accepted their offer, after all there was such a lot of work to do. Laura designed, planned and shopped and by the time they were ready to move in Laura was organised. It would not hurt the kids to stay in town with her mum whilst upstairs was sorted, it would give them some time to adjust to a move which they had not wanted. Where the wallpapers had come from Laura could not even hazard a guess, from the roaring twenties with flapper girls to wizards, witches and warlocks. They all would have to be changed, at least all the paintwork had been freshened up.
Martin was away so Laura felt a sense of total freedom, she could work anyway she choose and would not have to clear up so often. The first bedroom had obviously been the nursery as the wallpaper in here was nursery rhymes. She shuddered as she checked out the characters: Little Bo Peep's sheep looked dead in the fields and Jack looked dead at the bottom of the hill; she felt a sudden cold chill in the room. She briskly started work soaking the wallpaper and stripping it off. Laura was engrossed and then suddenly became aware of the front door opening and the stairs creaking, turning she could see the door start to open. A gust of cold air blew the door open. Calling out with scrapper in hand she turned towards the door, quick as a flash threw the scrapper, it bounced off the wall and down to the corner stair. An ouch rang out and Laura mortified peered out but no one was in sight.
Slightly shaken Laura checked downstairs, the doors were locked and the house was empty, time for coffee, her mind was playing tricks on her. Coffee revived her and she returned to the bedroom scrapper in hand. There was a gash across the wallpaper and she could see that the Grand Old Duke of York lying beside his horse with a gash across his head. Puzzled Laura shook herself and looked again. Sure enough the eye looked red and appeared to be swelling; she put her cold sponge on it and then shook herself. What on earth was she doing, acting as though the character was alive? Her shoulders stiffened and she focused back to the stripping progressing around the room, but when she got to the Duke of York with his ten thousand men she carefully cut them out and placed them to one side.
The new paper was plain and simple with a flowery border and went up a dream; into the border she evenly spaced out some of the Duke of York with his men. Laughing at herself she realised she was definitely going mad. Her back ached and Laura realised that it was too late to go to her mum's now. A quick phone call to reassure mum and the kids and soon she was soaking in the bath. A glass of wine and a microwaved meal later and Laura climbed into the sleeping bag on top of the unmade bed. She gazed around the room, this wallpaper was not too bad in design, it reminded her of the Great Gatsby. There were flapper girls and gangster
Laura drifted off to sleep and dreamt of the wallpaper around her, the speakeasy bar was smoky and very loud. Drinks were free flowing and a glass of champagne was in her hand, she watched with interest as the card players started to argue. Guns were pulled out as Laura, horrified, watched bullets ricochet around the room; under the table she went, legs curled up underneath her. A cry of pain was torn from her as cramp woke her up, paralysed with fear she could hardly move. The bedroom was freezing; telling herself to wiggle her big toe Laura rolled onto the floor and gradually pulled herself from the sleeping bag.
Laura felt freezing cold yet sweat pouring down her back and slowly, with eyes tightly closed, she made her way out of the bedroom. However real her dream – and boy had it felt real – she was totally unprepared to look at the wallpaper. There had been too much blood in that dream for her to face her fanciful imaginings. Laura headed for the kitchen thanking heaven for the old brick walls and timber beams in here. She took slices of bread from the freezer and sanity returned as she ate her tea and toast and watched the dawn rise. Laura stood in the shower knowing full well that the bedroom had to be faced; she had vowed the upstairs rooms would be completed before the weekend.
The finished room looked good and the Duke and his army looked as though they belonged marching around the border with smiling faces. The Duke was now mounted on his horse, Laura felt sick; she must have imagined yesterday. Friends had told her that moving was the most stressful life event after divorces. So much work her mind was playing tricks; she smiled with pleasure, the carpet would finish the room off. Her dream faded from the forefront of her mind and, coffee in hand, she went into the bedroom. A brisk tidy up and her decorating materials were all laid out; she had not really looked at the walls yet . . . and then she fainted.
The cold air revived her and Laura found herself lying curled up on the dust sheets. Slowly inching herself up, summoning as much courage as she could, she stared mouth agape at the wallpaper. There were broken and bloodied bodies lying all around, the cards and card tables were all over the place. Smiling in one corner was a group of what Laura could only describe as Mafioso/gangster types looking around. There were rusty red runs down the paper and they were certainly not there yesterday, in fact the carnage reflected completely her dream. Laura quaked with fear, as a child she had believed in ghosts but those days were long gone.
Laura started to strip the wallpaper as quickly and as vigorously as she could, there was not going to be a repeat of last night's experience. The painter who had freshened up this room had painted some of the wallpaper, this was not coming off so easy. All the waste paper she took out to the garden and she set it alight in a rusty old cauldron. As the flames took hold she heard the moans and screams rising out of the flames. Running indoors she grabbed her iPlayer ear plugs in and turning it up loud she returned to her task. The Moonlight Sonata played in her ears as she ensured no scraps blew away. She told herself that the screams she heard was the wind blowing through the trees. But the cold chills down her spine said something else.
Laura was determined and now she was angry, she had to make a plan. No spooks, spirits or spectres were taking her forever home away, time for action. Laura went up to the Duke's bedroom and searched through the stripped paper. Luckily she had not been so conscientious at tidying up yesterday. Her spirit soared as she found most of what she wanted and, carefully cutting and flattening out, she prepared herself for war. The final bedroom provided her with the icing on the cake, and her hopes soared. She turned the central heating high and the Aga in the kitchen was lit, soon the cottage was as warm as toast, any chills or cold spots would be clearly identified.
Laura started downstairs, and as she inspected each room there was a sense of warmth and comfort, but then of course she noted there was no wallpaper. Closing and shutting each door behind her she headed for the stairs, she returned quickly to the kitchen and picked up her Pritt sticks, the plan may not work but stood no chance without this essential item. Reaching the corner stair she sensed the drop in temperature and bending down she pasted the Grand Old Duke of York and his army onto the stair. Beside him she placed the three witches and their cauldron and on the other side she glued Merlin, she progressed up the stairs and along the landing. Each time she felt cold shivers or heard strange and weird voices she followed the same routine. The voices were becoming increasingly angry but her resolve strengthened.
The ranting's and ravings were being forced ahead of her along the landing, she threw open the Duke of York's room and then the door to the room full of gangsters. Finally she was in reach of the last bedroom where she had found the witches and warlocks design on the walls. The voices were screeching and the sounds tormented her ears but she carried on, sweat pouring from her. The final door flew open and now at last behind her she could hear horses snorting and the marching of boots. Her final cutting from the walls of the room, the book of spells, was pasted quickly on the inside of the door. Laura stood back as the ghosts of the Grand Old Duke ordered on his men into the room. In amidst the ten thousand men were the gangsters and their molls, all arms had been confiscated and the characters were temporarily subdued.
Laura stepped to one side quaking with relief and quickly closing the door she returned to the kitchen; she could hear the battle, it sounded long and hard, finally all fell silent. Courage in hand and her stomach in her mouth she returned to the landing. The bedroom doors were all open, the duke's room was as lovely as it was yesterday but the Duke appeared to have on an extra medal and he was grinning from ear to ear. The gangster's room was stripped bare, not a trace of paper remained on the walls and the sun shone through the windows. Finally she dared to step into the wizard's room, the wallpaper had disappeared without trace, and the spell books were laying cut out on the floor.
As Laura finished the wallpapering she made a unique and unusual border of the three witches together with the Old Spell Book. For her a gentle reminder that should any of her ghostly spectres return help would always be at hand.