Prologue
The winter of July 1997
Candlelight flickers off the white tiles in the bathroom as the dark red blood slowly runs down the smooth surface forming a pool of glinting black tar that slowly starts to seep into the cold wet cement of the floor. Wind whips around the cottage, the rafters creek and a loose sheet of corrugated iron roof sheeting hammers out its own funeral march as the dust devils dance along the deserted dark roads.
A branch reaches out from the body of the tree and runs its dry skeleton-like fingers along a window pane in time to the howling wind as it whips up into frenzy, rushing between the scattered cottages and rattling at the windows and doors. The people of Nieu Bethesda dig deeper under the covers and shiver in their sleep but unaware that beneath a full moon that has just reached its zenith, evil has come to visit and evil has come to stay.
Shadows dance in the moonlight as the wind bends the massive trees lining the empty streets to its will, the witching hour has come and gone and with it, the strays that make the darkness of Pienaarsig their home throw their heads up towards the star-filled sky and howl out their anguish, the hair on their backs bristle, their tails tucked between their legs in fear as they sense the malignant force that has arrived with the coming of the full moon.
Her body lies in the roof, wedged in between the roof trusses, and the ceiling. A game went wrong, a make-believe game of using candles to call up spirits from the other side, a game of hide and seek in the dark glassy, glassy and I dare you. Her name is Lynne Jumbo, eighteen years old who took the dare to call on the forces of evil… they answered her call for she was a virgin, and virgin blood is sweetest. The cottage on Grave Street, half completed now has its first occupant… her throat slit open by the sharp edge of the loose corrugated iron sheeting that now lifts and bangs with the force of the howling wind. For company, she has the force who took her life… a force that thrives on terror, an entity that belongs in hell, a supernatural being from beyond the grave that has answered the call… ”I dare you.”
Her lifeblood soaked into the wet cement, the house absorbs her energy as electrical sparks bounce off the walls while the entity toys with her spirit. The wind whips through the empty window frames, whistling through the empty shell of the cottage… the flame of the candle flickers and then is snuffed out as Lynne’s body gives one last shudder, a gurgle escapes from her torn throat and then silence reigns. Her friends do not realize she is missing… they ran home laughing in terror at their game, seeking shelter from their imagination in the warmth of their beds for it is the winter of 1997. No one hears the buzz of the flies in the ceiling as all work on the cottage has been brought to a halt.
As it is with the people of the village, they decide that Lynne left in the dead of the night, attracted by the bright lights of the city like a moth is attracted to the flame of a candle. No-one knows the secret of the house on Grave Street, but then all small villages have their secrets, some of them even have a haunted house.
Climbing up the ladder on the side of the house the man twitches his nose… a sweet smell is in the air but he can’t place it. Reaching the roof, he leans over, hammer in hand and in a few hard strokes hammers the six-inch nail through the loose roofing into the roof truss, this is followed by three more effectively securing the roofing in place and unknown to him, sealing the body of Lynne Jumbo in her tomb.
With silence returning, the rats return to the six-week-old corpse and carry on their interrupted feast of human flesh… an unexpected bounty that they have been feeding on through the Nieu Bethesda winter.
The cottage on Grave Street in the small Karoo town of Nieu Bethesda has stood empty and derelict since the night of the 1st April 1994 when Adam Lumbar murdered his wife and two children in a fit of madness. Unable to comprehend the murders, convinced that the killing was done by an unseen force he is sent to a psycho ward for evaluation on the state of his mind. To date he is still unable to stand trial.
The “For Sale” sign fades with age outside the cottage, the realtor soon forgets that it is even for sale and the children of the village use it as a play house but you would not find anyone there after dark. The shadow of murder and death hangs over the cottage.
January 1997 starts off well for the realtor with a buyer for the cottage on Grave Street. A buyer who does not believe in ghosts and with plans to renovate and restore the cottage to its former glory, then join the thriving business of hospitality and rent the cottage out as a self-catering unit.
Unknown to the buyer the cottage already has an occupant… a patient occupant who is trapped within the walls but who waits eagerly for someone to play with… someone to come and play the game… Come and Play with me… come and say hello to Death.
