Free Dead Night by Tim O'Rourke Page A

blanket covered it. Next to the bed stood a nest of drawers and on top of them was a photograph and a book. I crossed the room and could see that the book was Wuthering Heights by Thomas Hardy. I thumbed through the pages, which were yellow and dog-eared. In the front, written in pencil, someone had scrawled the words, Happy seventeenth birthday Andy – Love, Dad . Maybe I’d been wrong and perhaps the room had belonged to a boy after all. I picked up the picture and wiped a thick covering of dust from the glass to reveal a faded photograph of a young girl and a man. She was very pretty, with light blonde hair that rested on her shoulders. Her eyes were perfect blue and she had an impish look about her. The man, who I suspected was her father, was a giant. He was solidly built, with massive round shoulders. His forearms were so muscular that they looked like something Popeye would have been proud of. He had black hair that was just starting to turn grey above the ears.
    Unlike the girl, he didn’t look happy. He looked sad – troubled – as if he had the weight of the world bearing down on those giant shoulders.
    Looking at the picture caused a rush of gooseflesh to race down my back, and I put the picture back where I had found it. Wondering what had happened to the girl and her father, I left the room and went back onto the landing. I pushed open the third door and found another small bedroom. This was empty apart from a small narrow bed and a wardrobe in the corner, which looked more like a locker. Closing the door, I stepped back onto the landing and pushed open the remaining door.
    I could have screamed with joy when I spotted the small bathtub in the corner. Without hesitating, I raced across the bathroom and twisted on the taps. There was a thumping sound from behind the walls as the pipes rattled to life.
    Then, a thick stream of brown coloured water gurgled and splattered from the taps and into the bath. As I waited for the water to run clear, I pulled off my dirty clothes and kicked them into the corner of the room. I filled the bath with water, and although it was barely warm, I sank myself into it.
    I never thought I would ever be so grateful for a tub full of clean water. I sunk below the surface and let the water run through my hair.
    It felt as if I were being cleansed in some way.
    How long I stayed in the water I don’t know; but when I finally climbed out, the skin covering my toes and the tips of my fingers was all wrinkled.
    Heading back down the landing, I went back into the room with the bed and the faded pink blanket. I wrapped the blanket around me and lied down. The bed was soft beneath me and I closed my eyes.
    He crawled up the bed towards me, brushing his lips over the flat of my stomach and over my breasts. Although his eyes were jet-black, like two onyx gemstones, they sparkled and that smile of his crept across the lower half of his face. My heart raced and I breathed deeply. He brought his face over mine and I could feel his breath, warm against me. My whole body tingled and I felt more alive than I ever had before. He always made me feel like this. He lowered himself slowly over me and his lips caressed mine. I kissed him, but not fully. I knew he wanted me to, but I wanted it to last – I didn’t want to rush. I wanted our lovemaking to be slow. He groaned as if I were teasing him in some way. I wasn’t -
    I was teasing myself, and I enjoyed that. The urge to just let him take me was unbearable because I knew what pleasures lay ahead, but I wanted to hold off for as long as I could. The longer I waited, the better the end when it came.
    My heart raced and I think he could sense it. As if he were unable to resist any longer, he buried his hands in my long, dark hair and pushing into me, we kissed at last. His skin felt cold against mine. Entwining our bodies as if we were one, he pinned me to the bed. Arching my back, I let him kiss every part of my face, neck, and breasts. He released