IN AND OUT OF VIEW WAS a grimy moon on the wane. The night doesn’t entice housebound souls desperate to go out while the wind moans deep and low.
From a backyard, a hound howls a pitiful lament from soot-rinsed railway terraces. It will be old Sladeburn chained to his kennel with rusty ironwork that once an anchor hung.
At number 31, it was time to draw the curtains against the dark and worst of the weather. Widow Mrs Mitchum, on the other side of the street, saw it as her cue to close hers. She often waves to George at number 31, who is coy about it and attempts to smuggle a wave back. He says he does it out of politeness and being neighbourly. It amuses his wife, Val, who conceals a smirk. Val finishes off knitting for the evening and sets it down on her small table beside her chair.
She turns over a thought and sighs. I do hope mother is okay in that home.
Val looked to the clock, right on cue, thumping from inside the wall. The pair have got used to it now, could set the time by it. They ignore it. You would think something was trapped, going at it hammer and tongs.
"Hark my words, Val, a vampire moon tonight, make no mistake."
George changes the focus of attention away from Mrs Mitchum over the road. He flopped into his armchair and stroked his side table where the missing TV remote lay. Val watching him caress thin air.
"I'll put the Horlicks on," Val says, shuffling out of her chair.
She stepped into the galley kitchen, which is a poor excuse for an extension built when builders were ten a penny looking for work. It was just off to the side of the living room and far too small to house regular-sized white goods. They had to make do with stuff found online more suited for a small caravan.
Val felt for the light switch and hung back for the fluorescent strip to stop flickering. It could set off a migraine if she kept her eyes open while waiting for it to settle.
"This light needs to get fixed, it annoys me flashing like it does. I thought you were having a word with Eddie to sort it out?"
"I told you I asked him," said George. "He's on nights. He'll sort it out sometime. I don't like to keep pestering him."
He looked at the gap on the wall where the TV used to hang.
Val came rushing in, carrying both mugs awkwardly.
"Here grab yours it's hot."
A sheet of rain sounded thrown against the glass, bringing a look from both of them towards the back window.
They sipped at the mugs.
Outside, the wind had picked up and blew across the street chimney pots, drawing a hollow moan.
Val snuggled deep into her armchair, cradling the mug of Horlicks to her lips.
Do you fancy a go on the Ouija board tonight?" George suddenly asked.
Val continued staring into space, thinking about it.
"Well go on then, there’s no telly, might as well." She had a thought. "But can I ask us not to communicate with that spirit Mr Bainbridge; I find his language a bit coarse and lewd."
George shifted in his chair.
"I don't like the way he insults my mother. Terrible way he's got with words." She put her mug down and folded her arms. An air of defiance is apparent, maybe brought on from last time.
George tried to look sympathetic to her feelings.
"Well, I can't promise. He seems to break through when you mention your mother stopping with us instead of being in the nursing home."
Thanks for reading and discovering my short story pieces. I hope they go on to entertain you in the coming weeks. Now you’ll have to excuse me I’m on my own in here and got to get a rather heavy cadaver back on the slab, I don’t know how it managed to slip off.