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The smog was unbearable, the toaster had caught fire apparently the guests were expecting a banquet. the devil brought a white loave, a needle and some pocket change, the desert was the young woman just grabbed fresh off the street making her way home. The grab was opportunistic to say the least the parameters undefinable the excuses suspect. The old house had none of its charm of its grandiose glory days the peep holes crudely inserted for paying punters with there jazz hands and tubs of lube had put paid to that fact.

the stacks of left over mail the shoot gun casings from the man scaring the devil away. the wall paper peeling the hole in the roof was leaking the buckets over flowing the stolen TV set on the blink. Out westward the sun falls fast. And anybody with any sense is home far from this place that lurks in the dark .from the road the property is not even visible hidden by a grassy knoll and set of trees .the lead upto the home if you could call it that looked more like a scrap yard a wild dog once somebody’s pet lurched at its chain sodden from the rain.

The young girl barely eight or nine blindfolded. Satchel in hand gripped until her knuckles turned white like a pneumatic drill operators.

A hushed tone from down the hall, the makeshift strip lighting hanging from the ceiling the old school desks ,their lids all standing to attention. The dulcimer plucked with the silver spoon baked black ringing.

The man stormed down the hall leaving the child alone. Into the void of light the old projection had cast through the room onto the screen . a woman gyrating and stripping  her bodice on the floor . the man sitting in his chair.  in the background another woman obviously in pain Is hand cuffed to old metal bed frame ,the sound of the flogging of whips on skin and old wire and screams echoing out of the broken speaker. The film repeats on a endless loop..

the little girl recognises her dead mother from the photo on the mantel piece  at her grandparents home. the one the child psychologist had promised to her that she’d return and had just gone a short holiday her memory now permantly scarred .

She sobs and the warmth of a her bowl trickles down her skirt dripping down between the floorboards. Into the vacant dungeon below. In the corner of the room a upright chest freezer its contents growing a black mouldy bloom with mushrooms sprouting across the skull of the previous tenant his mortarboard  now replaced with a dunces cornet .