“There’s a light, over at the Frankenstein place” funny how I thought that as I trudged up the path towards the old house seeking help in the middle of the night.
It sucks breaking down on a country road miles from anywhere.
The fog had come in making the scene far more eerie than it probably should have been but I’d seen the Rocky Horror Show many times and the song just came to my mind.
There was no light over the front door; the room above the door was where the light shone.
I knocked feeling bad I was probably awakening someone and realising they would be as anxious about answering the door at this late hour.
The door was opened by a small-wizened lady carrying a lantern. She looked at me as I explained my situation and asked if I could use her phone, as I had no reception on my mobile.
“Oh course dear,” she said, “come through I was just mixing up a brew for the morning.”
It was then I became aware of the aroma within the house. Wouldn’t say it was pungent but it was pretty close to being so.
“I’ll put the kettle on while you call, its cold out and you need a bit of a warming up,” she said shuffling down a dark corridor and out of sight.
I put in my call and organised help and put down the receiver. She was then back beside me, a cuppa in one hand a chocolate biscuit in the other. I was grateful for the hot coffee and more grateful for the biscuit.
My head began to swim, I felt unsteady and in the back of my mind the Eagles “Hotel California” was playing:
“You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”