The First Day.

The mist lay across the fields. A light breeze blew across the Essex countryside causing the mist to swirl almost ghostlike, but resolutely it clung to the cool earth, never more than two meters above the ground.
A horse snorted, steam rising from its nostrils. Two wood pigeons competed with each other, calling across from the old church to the large timbered house that had nestled comfortably next to it for over six hundred years.
The early sky was cloudless, a perfect turquoise blue. To the east the early sun had risen lazily above the horizon, it sat low and glowed bright orange with promise. Although chilly, the day would soon warm and become hot, but at this precise moment it had a vitality and cool freshness about it that most people missed, still safely sleeping in their beds.
The eight inhabitants of the big old house were no different and for the most part were still slumbering, sleeping off the excesses of the previous night’s party, oblivious to the sheer wonder of Gods creation.
The party had been meant to reunite old friends, and in most respects it did, even if everyone had not managed to make it.
Charlie was the first in the house to awake, although bleary eyed he was pleased to find himself without a substantial hangover and considering what he had consumed the night before it was in itself a small miracle.
Memories of the previous night came back in small flashes as Charlie breathed out long and slow; he rubbed his coarse face with both hands and felt the roughness of two days without shaving. His mouth seemed to be clamped shut through dryness, he was dehydrated.
Charlie sighed and conceded to himself that maybe he had drunk a little too much after all.
Blinking away the sleep Charlie tried to orientate himself, he yawned and stretched and was only half surprised when he felt something warm beside him, turning his head he looked at who or what lay beside him in the semi-darkness.
“Oh, I though as much.” He croaked quietly.
Charlie rubbed both eyes again and blinked, trying to focus, the sleep in both eyes was reluctant to give up its hold.
The woman lay naked and still, covered to her waist by the summer duvet. The smeared makeup did little to distract from the fact that she was beautiful despite her dishevelled appearance, her tousled blond hair framed her face as she slept.
She breathed shallow and slow, her exposed breasts rose and fell as she did so. Charlie watched in the dim light for a moment, mesmerised. He traced out her outline with his eyes, her near perfect side profile, her slender neck, the generous lips, and the slightly upturned nose, small and delicate. Memories of last nights encounter came back. Charlie smiled despite himself.
“You are beautiful.” He whispered hoarsely. “Whoever you are.”
The blond remained silent, unaware of the tainted compliment. Charlie tried to remember her name but failed, her left hand contained a wedding ring amidst others.
“Naughty boy Charlie.” He said admonishing himself.
His head felt fuzzy, a little too much whisky and not enough sleep as per usual. As he breathed out Charlie could smell the whisky on his own breath.
When he wasn’t working Charlie liked to party, and he liked to drink, but drink at his own pace, unfortunately last night he had drunk ahead of his normal pace and his friend Mark was as usual to blame. Charlie’s glass was never found to be wanting, whilst Marks often would. His friend always seemed to take great delight in getting all around him royally drunk and watching in obvious delight as they all made fools of themselves. Last night had been no different Charlie concluded.
“You’re a bastard Mark Mc Noughton.” He croaked hoarsely.
He smiled as he remembered the previous night’s events.
Peter, an elderly friend of his father had danced around the dining room clutching a large oval shaped object to his chest. It had turned out to be a fossilised dinosaur dropping.
When asked why he was dancing with it the old man had looked towards him with his craggy face broken into a huge grin and announced. “Because it’s the only thing in the room my age!”
As he sat up with a yawn, his bladder complained, Charlie decided that an imminent visit to the toilet would be needed, he also realised that a shower, shave and a cup of tea in that order.
He swung his legs free of the duvet and rolled awkwardly from the oddly angled double bed, the suddenness of the movement caused his head to protest. Naked Charlie groped around the wooden floor in the semi darkness. Eventually he managed located his trousers that lay crumpled near the foot of the bed and pulled them on minus his underpants that were nowhere apparent. He stubbed his toe on the heavy iron bed in the dim light and cursed quietly.
The blond women stirred and mumbled a incoherent protest before slipping gratefully back into her slumber.
Charlie rubbed his toe as he tried to remember where the lavatory was located. He had some recollection of it being on the ground floor but was not entirely certain.
The house was a recent acquisition, purchased some moths ago by his best friend who it seemed had a never-ending pot of money. This was however only his second visit and Charlie had yet to fully explore its depths.
Charlie ruffled his hair thoughtfully and immediately regretted it as he winced in pain; he remembered back to the previous night and all became clear.
He had been sober enough to notice the low doorframe as he had carried the now sleeping blonde up stairs to the bedroom and had ducked accordingly to enter the room.
Unfortunately for Charlie he didn’t duck low enough and had only succeeded in giving himself a glancing blow to the top of the head, the result of which had sent him sprawling onto the hard wooden floor dropping the blonde in the process.
To her credit the now sleeping blonde had taken this well and had burst into a fit of giggles. He in turn had rolled around clutching at his skull in obvious pain, from his perspective it was hard to see the funny side. Charlie felt through his hair tentatively this time and sure enough a scab of dried blood had formed on his scalp together with a small lump. Touching it made him wince. “Bugger.” He cursed.
Charlie walked gingerly across to the heavily draped window mindful this time of stubbing his toe against the bed.
He pulled back one of the heavy curtains. The early morning light shone weakly into the unfamiliar bedroom. He looked around the room as it unravelled its secrets.
The walls were at least fifteen feet high and the room heavily timbered in oak; Charlie estimated the room to be about twenty feet square, between the heavy vertical timbers it was painted a tasteful shade of light yellow.
The large iron four poster bed dominated the centre of the room; likewise the naked blond purely for aesthetic reasons dominated the bed.
The room had an uneven but sound oak floor covered in the centre by an expensive looking rug, Turkish he guessed. The whole room seemed to slope to one side and he noticed that one corner of the bed was elevated onto wooden blocks in an effort to even it out.
In one corner of the bedroom an old ornate sink complete with new toothbrushes, soap and towels. Charlie considered using the sink as a temporary lavatory but dismissed it.
Curious he looked through the small picture window and looked out onto a very large if slightly unkempt country garden.
The sun was rising in the east basking the garden in a wonderful yellow and red light, the blue sky looked promising.
The dawn chorus was already well under way with all manner of birds competing to be the loudest. Outside the window, Starlings flitted to and from the eaves just above him. He could here the scurry of small feet within the roof void.
A hundred meters or so to the rear of the house stood a stable block, the head of a large horse protruding through the top half of the stable doors, the horse seemed to chew contentedly on its bale of hay strung up to one side. The horse threw back its head and snorted. Beyond the stables the meadow, clouded in the early mist that hung like a damp blanket over the surrounding countryside.
A figure came into view, barely discernible through the mist; the figure, a man he guessed stopped and regarded the house before turning and walking back into the mist towards the fields beyond. Charlie though nothing of it, ‘probably a dog walker’ he mused. He turned his attention back inside the room towards the door.
In contrast to the rooms size the door was small, less than five feet in height. A heavy Suffolk latch that seemed to have been beaten from solid iron its only adornment, its maker probably dead for centuries. Charlie slapped a hand on one of the upright Oak timbers, it was as hard as iron. Modern house builders could learn a thing or two from the past he concluded.
Charlie recalled a conversation with Lisa the night before. She had boasted of a Priest Hole hidden to one side of the fireplace in the expansive dining room.
Armed with torches both Mark and he had investigated the claim. To everyone’s great amusement they had returned some ten minutes later covered in the grime and detritus of centuries and proclaimed that in fact it was a tunnel leading from the house to the old church that sat about one hundred and fifty feet from that very spot.
A very chuffed Mark had said that the tunnel alone had proven that the house had stood during Henry the Eight’s time and that he really had taken his claim of one of Essex’s finest old houses with proven provenance, ‘and good luck to him too’ Charlie thought.
Charlie had not been to the house for a few months, and in that few months Lisa had done wonders, the house was fast becoming a home.
He looked back at the woman sleeping once again trying to remember her name but he realised that he probably had never asked for it in the first instance. She was a new friend of Lisa’s.
Charlie’s normal predatorial behaviour had been unnecessary; she had made all the moves, coming on strong. Younger than he, in her mid thirties he guessed, she had been a very enthusiastic lover as he remembered.
Charlie blew out through his lips as he tried to recall anything further about her. He gave up with a shrug, tip toeing quietly to the small door and thumbed the ancient latch making sure to duck his head sufficiently this time.
Instead of a hallway as he expected he found only a staircase that led down straight down. Curious he descended quietly and found the base of the stairway opened directly via another door into a large dining area that was equal in proportion to the bedrooms in that it was huge. The vast fireplace that took up nearly the whole of one wall dominated the room. The cover to the priests tunnel had been replaced he noted, its entrance concealed once again. The ceiling in contrast to the bedroom however was very low. The dining table was still littered with the debris from the previous last night’s party, plates, bottles and half eaten remains from the cheese board and desert dishes still lay uncleared on the large refectory table. The fire still smouldered deep in its heart, the aroma of burnt wood mingled with the more pungent odour of stale beer, wine and cigarettes.
Charlie pulled a slim after dinner mint from a box on the table and let it melt on his tongue chasing away the taste of the previous night’s whisky. He looked around blankly at the four doors leading from the dining area in the hope of remembering where the loo was located, he gave up trying to think and instead shuffled barefoot on the cold flagstone floor towards the first door on his left. Charlie thumbed the latch, the door squeaked open in protest, he peered inside and at once recognised the large heavily timbered lounge. He also recognised the figure now sprawled out face down on one sofa, it was Peter, his father’s life long friend, the dinosaur dropping dance partner lay near the couch, a large lump now chipped from its side.
The old man slept fitfully, emitting a gentle snore, an empty beer bottle dangled from one finger that seemed to be lodged inside the neck. Charlie noticed also that Peter seemed to be missing a shoe and smiled as he remember how that came about, quietly he backed out of the room closing the door again carefully, not wishing to wake the Peter from his stupor.
He wondered what had held up his father and his father’s friend Hans. They had said they would try to make it last night but nothing firm had been promised. The group of friends was about to spend a whole week together so when both men had said they might be running late, nobody had really minded.
Charlie looked around the dining room once more, trying to get his bearings.
“Where’s the bloody loo.” He hissed through clenched teeth, the urge to empty his bladder was steadily getting worse.
It was then that he heard a growl, low and menacing. Turning slowly his eyes fell upon a large German Shepherd Dog standing at the opposite corner of the room.
“Hello there, I don’t remember seeing you last night. Who’s a good boy then!” Charlie said encouragingly, trying to win the dogs favour.
The dog regarded him with suspicion and growled again, saliva dripped from one corner of it’s mouth landing with a splat on the flagstones.
Charlie studied the German Shepherd, this was not the friendliest of dogs, and he would need to be careful because the dog looked both mean and eager. Showing Charlie a full compliment of sharp looking teeth it emitted another low growl.
“Hey, mind that dribbling!” Charlie said light-heartedly pointing to the wet flagstones.
The dog didn’t see the humorous side of Charlie’s argument and snarled, faster this time, the pitch rising an octave.
“Oh fuck, trust me to get lumbered with psycho dog.” Charlie said swallowing hard. He knew that this dog was intent on taking a lump from him, something he didn’t relish, especially as he was now very aware of his state of undress and complete lack of bite protection Charlie’s eyes darted around looking for something, anything to fend the dog off with. He was fully aware of the damage a dog’s teeth could do and had the scars on his forearm to prove it.
His eyes fell on the only thing at hand, a Queen Anne dining chair, he sighed inwardly, it was bound to be valuable.
The dog, as if testing him took a step closer cutting him off from the lounge in which Peter slept fitfully. Charlie looked around for a means of escape, only the porch door next to the staircase seemed hopeful. Keeping an eye on the dog he reached out grabbing the antique dining chair, it scrapped across the flagstones as Charlie dragged it, keeping it between himself and the dog.
The dog took another tentative step forward, heckles raised, Charlie edged back in the direction of the staircase towards the heavy oak porch door. The dog followed as Charlie backed up between the large table and the fireplace, keeping the chair in front as a barrier. He risked a quick glance and checked the door visually, he noticed it opened into the room which was not ideal. Fortunately the key was in the lock and the bolts had not been thrown. He briefly considered the other options, two further doors were on the other side of the large room but the dog could reach either before him. The big German Shepard had sensed that Charlie was intent on flight and moved forward a few feet closing the gap.
“Will you sod off!” Charlie hissed in annoyance.
He was confident he could tackle the dog but Lisa might not be to sympathetic if she found her canine friend with her antique dining chair buried in its skull. He decided therefore on damage limitation, a tactical retreat was in order. The dog’s growl increased, it took another three steps towards him.
“This is ridiculous! Stay!” He ordered in annoyance.
The dog’s ears went back and for a second it looked like it would capitulate, the smallest hint of uncertainty flicked across it’s eyes, but the dog resolutely stood its ground.
Charlie could almost read its eyes that said. ‘Fuck you.’
“Right mate, that’s all the warning you get.” He lunged at the dog with the chair hoping to startle it and drive it back, the dog however had different ideas, angered further by the attack it leapt forward closing his jaws around the valuable chair leg, it shook the chair violently, Charlie heard wood splinter.
“Christ!” He hissed. He gave the chair a huge shove pushing the dog backwards before turning and bolting for the door, he turned the key and heaved the door open in one motion. The dog scrabbled to get past the hastily discarded dining chair, its large paws slipping on the stone floor as it tried to gain some purchase.
Charlie slid through the opening then slammed the door shut behind him, sighing heavily. The dog hit the door with a resoundingly heavy thud and yelped.
“That’ll teach you.” Charlie smiled smugly.
He heard the dog as it sniffed at the door and then let out a solitary deep bark of defiance and frustration.
Charlie rested his back against the solid oak of the door and pondered his options. He desperately needed to pee but going back into the house was a no go for the time being. The porch was suitably large, in keeping with the rest of the house. Facing west however, it was cold, even on a summer morning. Inside piled in one corner stood at least ten sets of clubs, all lined up in readiness for the coming tournament.
Charlie considered battering the dog with a decent One wood but dismissed it. Instead barefoot Charlie opened the outer door that led outside to the garden and grounds that led down to the main road, his ears were greeted by the early morning cacophony of birdsong.
Charlie looked at the pathway that led to the house from the main gate.
“Shingle, Oh great!” The day had only just started and Charlie felt it was beginning to stack against him already, if only he knew.