Appearance: 
  
 
Page:   
 Share It:
https://fiction.homepageofthedead.com/forum.pl?readfiction=1083H

House On The Hill
(© Biswapriya Purkayastha)

Page 2

"I’m not talking about that," he said sharply. "Nothing so – mundane – as that. It was of a different order altogether, up there inside the house on the hill."

With a glance around to make sure our attention was completely fixated on him, he sipped at his brandy and began to talk.



You never knew Bimohit (the Storyteller said). We had been friends from the time we were boys, and though our lives had taken different paths after school, we never really lost touch with one another. Every few months we’d find occasion to meet and go out together. Sometimes, if we were only free for an evening, we’d watch a movie and go out for dinner. If we had a few days free, we might go out for a hike.

Those hikes were more friendly contests than anything. Bimohit was a great walker, long-legged as a greyhound and slim as a whippet. Even though I’d always enjoyed walking, I found it difficult to keep up with him. But it was a point of honour with me, being bigger and stronger, that I didn’t lag behind at the end of the day.

Those days I lived in a small town, far away from here. You’d recognise the name if I told you, but you wouldn’t recognise the place if you went there now. It’s not a small town any longer, and just about everything’s changed. Everything, I suppose, but that house – the house on the hill.

That town is surrounded by hills. They’re rough and new, bare rock with patches of fir and juniper, and tiny little hamlets strung out along mountain paths. Tourists used to come from far off to hike in those hills. They still do, as far as I know, and the hiking trails are heavily travelled. All of them – except one.

That time that I’m talking about, Bimohit had come up from the plains for a long weekend. I’d known he was coming, and made sure I was free. We had time; we were planning to stay out for three days, leaving us a fourth to rest before Bimohit had to leave and I get back to work.

Bimohit arrived in the late evening, and after a night’s rest was already raring to go before I’d even got out of bed. I rushed through my preparations, we had a hasty breakfast, and left just after seven in the morning, when the sun was beginning to peep over the tops of the jagged hills. We’d already hiked most of the major trails, and wanted to try some of the least travelled ones, which were new to me as well. The one I’d had my eye on was steep and stony, and virtually no one went that way; in other words, just what we wanted.

The heel of one of my hiking boots was flapping loose, and we stopped at a local cobbler’s to repair it. While the man bent over the last, stitching the boot, Bimohit and I discussed among ourselves the route we’d take. Then we saw the cobbler staring up at us.

"That is not a good way," he said. "Not-good things happen up there."

Not-good things? Bimohit and I glanced at each other, amused. "What do you mean?" I asked the cobbler. "Do robbers lie in wait for travellers, or something?"

"Not robbers, no." The man was clearly wishing he hadn’t spoken. "Just not a good way. Nobody goes that way. Other trails much better, sir."

"Well, thanks," I said. "But we’ve decided on this route, and we’re quite experienced hikers, so we’ll be all right."

He muttered something under his breath and handed my boot back. He’d fixed it quite expertly, and wanted a remarkably small amount of money. We were soon out of there and walking up the street to the point where the trail began.

"Did you hear what he was muttering at the end?" Bimohit asked suddenly.

I shook my head. "I was trying on the boot. What was he saying?"

"Didn’t make much sense, really. Something about avoiding the big house."

That didn’t make any sense to me either, so we put it out of our minds and bent forward as the slope steepened and we began the long slog up the hill.



By midday we knew it was going to be a tough hike, one of the toughest we’d ever been on. The path was so steep that it felt as though we’d need mountaineering equipment, and in such a bad state that we could well believe it was hardly ever used. More than once the loose gravel and pebbles went sliding away under our feet and we only saved ourselves from falling with difficulty. We were too busy even to appreciate the scenery around us.

[ Continue to page 3 ]

Donate
Help keep this site online by donating and helping to cover its costs.

Information
Genre:General Horror
Type:Short story
Rating:7.16 / 10
Rated By:25 users
Comments: 0 users
Total Hits:26941

Follow Us
 Join us on Facebook to be notified of updates
 Follow us on Twitter to be notified of updates

Forum Discussion
 "In A Violent Nature" - trailer... »
 Helldivers 2 (video game) »
 Alien: Romulus (trailer)... »
 Could James Rhodes aka War Machine hav... »
 Could James Remar have portrayed Rhode... »
 Reacher (Amazon series) »
 SRS Cinema (Merged Threads) »
 Rate the last movie you've seen »
 Fallout (Amazon Prime series) - Based ... »
 TWD: "The Ones Who Live" (Rick/Michonn... »
 TWD: Dead City teaser... »
 Had Rhodes and the boys been inside th... »
 Shogun (TV series) »
 MZ's Movie Review Thread »
 Dune: Part 2 (film) »
 For those who have visited the Monroev... »
 Masters of the Air (Apple TV+ series)... »
 the Walking Dead Empires. PC/MAC MMO S... »
 Boy Kills World (film) trailer... »
 Dawn Of The Dead (1978) - On-Set Home ... »