Winston had returned to his home, it was a beautiful house, but he was now alone, and the six bedroomed and three bath roomed house, which held a huge L shaped living room, a large dining room, a study the size of a large double bedroom, and a wash room and four separate toilets was just unused space, let alone the twenty acres of land mostly overgrown and heavily planted with old oaks, beech and a variety of other trees.
He had contemplated selling the house or developing the land himself, only since his wife had died he had changed and had just focused his mind solely on developing the surrounding area, now he sat in his home alone and cried. There was quiet surrounding him, as the house was set far enough back from the lane or road outside that the triple glazed windows in the front section of the building, kept out almost all of the sound, while at the back of the property he had only installed double glazing but liked to keep one small window partly open so he could feel the air entering into his bedroom.
There was a thud, a noise like something hitting the floor, and Winston looked up, there upon the carpet was a family photo album, only it was not stored in this room and it confused him as to where it had come from. He knew he kept it in the dining room upon a shelf with a few other important items and books which he valued. Upon picking it up he returned to his chair and opened the album.
It was stacked full of photos and his drawings, starting with his grandparents who originally owned property in Pester Lane and Lower Somerton. His father had inherited the land well estate actually and he himself had been born in a home in Lower Somerton just a few metres from Pester Lane, from where he grew learning his father’s trade, only to marry the love of his life, his soul mate and best friend. Seven years later his mother and father died in a head on car crash on the B3151, and he became sole owner of his father’s estate and became a property developer having learnt the building trade from his father.
As he viewed the photo he laughed as his parents were born naturalist that was their only quirk or oddity, yet to them it was natural there was nothing sinister about it, to them like thousands of others it was perfectly natural and for a time they visited secluded holiday areas which catered for their particular taste. They had even one very hot summer had likeminded friends to their home and having a private drive over three hundred meters in length and tall trees on either side forming a long curved arch, they remained unseen from the main road, so it was safe to walk their property unclothed.
Winston found the practise uncomfortable but it was here he first met his wife to be, and while she visited with her parents and was skipping outside naked, years later after they were married she posed for Winston semi clothed so he could practice his one vice, oil painting, and she became his model.
As he glanced at the pictures he remembered the past, his wife posing for his art, his self-impression after playing ball, his two horses and a local falcon he once saw. There were so many more but the memories brought a smile to his face, he had not picked up a pencil and drawn in over thirty years, more in fact and as he continued looking through the recorded memories of his past, he became aware he was not alone in the room.
The scent his wife used to wear drifted through the room and for the briefest of seconds he could almost feel her presence, and Winston wondered if it was she his wife who had brought him the album, as he looked up he jumped and tried to move backwards, almost falling over the chair he had been sitting upon, There before his eyes was the outline of a hooded man, it was only just in view but it looked at Winston and laughed, he swore he heard its laugh and as it faded he heard these words, “They are mine all mine.” At that the evil faded and vanished and Winston fell to his knees and cried.
The experience had become too much for Winston, so the next day he gathered his clothing and some personal items and moved into Kirkland Farm, only now he was angry and was determined to bring this to an end. He did not want any further children to suffer, and he knew somewhere within the memory sticks and journals lay the answer to this problem. Liza had discovered this he was sure, and he felt she deliberately chose to sacrifice herself so she could look after the children, his son included, and now he realised it was up to him to bring this to an end.