Just as he reached up for the knocker, the door eerily swing open. Deep into the remote cottage yellow sunshine cut into the pitch black recesses. True divided lites in the aged handcrafted wood windows created a checkerboard pattern on the terra-cotta tile floor. In the beams of light, elongated dust particles danced, almost suspended like mosquito larvae in long forgotten stagnant pond.
“Enter, I’ve been waiting for you”.
A sulphur-like scent hung in the air. “Would you care for something to drink?, We have allot to talk about”.
continue reading: The Pact By Raymond Roy #writephoto