I really hope you enjoy this short, stand alone story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do enjoy the read, please consider leaving a short comment; it means so much to me (and directly inspires me to write more and hopefully improve).
The Cottage with the Red Door.
As soon as Ed felt the engine cough he instantly knew he'd made a huge mistake.
"Not now, Please!" He shouted out loud, "Not here."
It then went very quiet. He pulled the clutch lever in, in a desperate attempt to keep forward momentum. He and his motorbike quickly came to a rest by the side of the lane. Ed looked down at the fuel tap - yup, it had already been on reserve...
He left his helmet to try and to keep at least one part of him dry. As he started shivering he looked around at his surroundings. Rain came down sideways across the desolate Moor as the wind steadily increased.
Stupid, stupid boy, he kept repeating to himself. He then crouched down by the side of his bike to try and keep out of the worst of the driving rain. As he sat there cradling the engine to try and warm his frozen hands he realised he was in serious trouble. He couldn't remember ever feeling colder - or more miserable. Evidently, he must have taken the wrong side road in an attempt to find the short cut. To cap it all off, he had absolutely no idea where he now was, and he'd forgotten his phone. He pictured the headline in the local newspaper;
Young Motorcyclist found frozen to death on Moor.
Realising he only had a finite amount of time to do something constructive he got to his feet and had another look around. He thought he saw something through his steamed up visor. He lifted it and squinted into the icy cold rain. Yes - across the ridge, he could see smoke.
He quickly removed his bike keys and started walking across the Moor. After ten minutes of staggering over the uneven, boggy ground he saw the roof of a building. He quickened his pace until a small cottage, with a red door appeared through the gloom. He broke into a run as he saw lights on inside. With him within shouting distance he caught a foot in a clump of gorse and down he went, hard. He soon realised he could indeed get colder and wetter - and more miserable. With everything he had left, he got to his feet and limped on until he was standing at the door. He rapped against the brass knocker loudly, then stepped back.
Ten seconds later the door opened. There he saw a lady the same height as himself with straight brown shoulder length hair. She was wearing a long brown woolly jumper and a herringbone skirt that finished just above her knees. She had black tights on and she wore thick high socks. She also had rosy cheeks which did seem slightly strange to him.
"Please." He said through his open visor.
He watched as she just stood there, clearly unsure of what to do. Just then he saw her begin to close the door.
"PLEASE!" He pleaded, "I really need help."
The door slowly re opened and she stepped to one side.
"Come on then, don't let all of the heat out." She said in a friendly tone.
As soon as the door shut behind him, he slumped to the floor shivering uncontrollably.
"Oh dear, you are in a pickle aren't you?" And with that she crouched down in front of him and began undoing the fastening on his helmet before removing it.
She then started rubbing his hands with hers. His hands hurt so much he couldn't stop himself from crying. She knew from personal experience in the army just what he was now going through.
"We'll get you sorted." She said looking into his eyes. He stared back at her and nodded.
Over the next few minutes she managed to pull his boots off and get him out of the worst of his wet, muddy gear, and drape blankets and throws over him. She went back to rubbing his hands. She couldn't believe how cold they felt.
"We need to get you by the fire yeah?" she said sternly. "Help me, Yes?"
He nodded again, and with great effort he managed to clamber to his feet.
"This way." She said steering him down the hallway.
She then noticed him limping.
"Have you just done that?" She said with concern. He nodded.
After a few more steps they entered a small cosy room that had an open fire crackling away.
"Sit." She said lowering him down onto the sofa.
"I'll be right back, no closer to the fire than that yeah?" And with that she disappeared.
Ed could sense the worst was over. He still couldn't feel his fingers, but he no longer felt sick with pain. He shifted slightly and noticed a open laptop by his side suddenly light up. Casually he glanced over. He saw chapter four underlined and a page of text. He thought he read...
Just then the laptop was slammed shut.
"Here, put these on and drink this." The woman passed him a pair of woolly gloves, and once she'd helped him pull them on handed him a steaming mug of sweet tea.
"I'm Ed." He said
"Susan." She replied.
"I can't thank you enough." He said blowing over the mug.
Susan then knelt down in front of him and carefully rested his ankle on her warm thighs.
"I don't think it's broken, just sprained." She said after inspecting it, "we should really get some ice on it, but I think you've been through enough."
She then disappeared again. Ed was so tempted to risk opening the lap top again but thought better of it. Susan soon returned carrying a first aid box. He then watched as she carefully and skilfully put a support on it. Once she'd finished she sat down in a chair opposite him.
"What are we to do with you then?" She asked.
"If you could possibly let me stay a little while longer, I'll then phone my Dad to come and get me."
"Err, there is a problem there." Ed raised his eyebrows at her, "No phone line and no phone signal." She added.
Ed thought for a few seconds about what she'd just said. Eventually he spoke;
"Have you possibly got a can of petrol I could buy from you?"
"Sorry - I don't own a car and the generator is diesel."
He sat there silent for a while looking at the rain lashing off of the windows.
"To be honest with you Susan, I can't think of anything else to do. I really don't want to go back out in that.
"No, you are definitely not going back out in that today, besides it will be dark soon."
She looked across at him for a while. She couldn't decide how old she thought he was, with youngsters today, she thought, he could be fifteen or twenty-five. She then realised he must at least be seventeen to be riding a motorbike.
"Will there be someone worrying where you are?" She enquired.
"Probably not until tomorrow, my mum is away at the moment."
"Well then, you can bed down on the sofa tonight."
"Are you sure? I won't be any trouble, I promise."
The thought of staying just where he was in this warm, cosy room lifted his spirits. He put his empty mug down and noticed a dictionary and thesaurus on the side table. He tried to think of something to say.
"Are you a writer Susan?"
Susan fixed him with a stare that worried him. Eventually she spoke;
"How old are you Ed?"
He didn't reply immediately, he was thinking it was a strange question to just come out with.
"I'm nineteen." He thought he saw her visibly relax.
"
Are
you a writer? It's just I saw the dictionary and that, and I didn't want to stop you from your work.
He watched as Susan started laughing. She was there for a good minute before she finally looked at him with tears in her eyes.
"Oh, you are a funny young man." And with that she got up and left the room.
He could still hear her chuckling away to herself as she climbed the stairs. What a strange woman he thought, lovely but strange. She soon returned with an armful of clothes.
These were my sons - there should be enough there to make yourself decent. She passed him a towel and said she'd give him some privacy to get changed out of his remaining wet clothes.
A tracksuit wasn't his bag, but he had to admit it felt great to finally be warm and dry. A short while later Susan returned with more tea and she sat on the chair opposite him again and drew her legs up and under her.
