Summer Cottage, where sun shines kinder, low hedges carefully clipped, roses and dahlias a deceptively controlled symphony of colour and shape; a fragrant, buzzing heaven, a haven for the many invited guests who drink tea on the lawn in polite conversation with aged Miss Simpkins who resides within, smiling through her autumn years.
Dark Devil’s Dyke, where the docks grow high, scattering seeds to fight through the weeds
in their struggle to sink to the dirt; where high hedges threaten to strangle passers by. Brambles scratch and nettles sting, while the house repels friendly offering, with blackened windows glinting, silently hinting at hideous crimes committed within.
Devil’s Dyke grew out of Summer Cottage when sweet Miss Simpkins took to her bed. Times have changed and the neighbours haven’t noticed that little Miss Simpkins has disappeared. Curled in a knot at the bottom of her stairs, she’s nothing but a skeleton, ten years dead.
©Jane Paterson Basil