Voices in the Dark by Edmund Cooper

Author:Edmund Cooper [COOPER, EDMUND]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2011-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE VOICE OF LOVE

I

Sentimental Journey

THE signpost stood on a small grassy mound where three roads joined. Down its stem, in black lettering, were the words Lincoln’s Cross.

Master Sergeant Robert Lincoln stared at it for a while, then got out of the car and lit a cigarette. The airfield was less than fifty miles away; but it had taken him more than a couple of hours to get here. He had lost his way three times, and had done the last ten miles along winding English country lanes whose hedgerows often brushed the car on both sides at once.

Now that he had arrived, he was left only with a feeling of anti-climax. There was nothing but a tumbledown house, a ruined church and a population consisting entirely of Guernsey cattle in a large meadow beyond the stream. The sensation of disappointment surprised him a little. After all, this place meant nothing to him personally. It was merely the place where a lot of crusty old ancestors had been born. He had come out of sheer curiosity and because, in every other letter from home, his father had asked whether he had seen the old house yet.

Robert flicked his cigarette into a patch of tall weeds, and grinned at the signpost. Lincoln’s Cross was some village! The nearest cottages—a nest of half a dozen with thatched roofs—were almost a mile away. Trust the English to let their towns and villages grow crazily without any pattern at all.

He crossed the narrow road and took a close look at the house. It seemed derelict And incredibly old.

Pantiles lay about the weed-choked garden, and here and there were odd diamonds of glass underneath the mullioned windows. The front door was locked. But from the handle, a piece of string disappeared through a crack in the warped panelling. Robert tugged it and found a rusty iron key. He opened the door and went inside.

The living-room was bare and cobwebbed. The great open fireplace was a mass of soot. The musty atmosphere seemed to hold the stillness of centuries. At the far end of the room, near the fireplace, was a door. As Robert walked towards it, he heard a sudden movement on the other side. He turned the handle.

It was the door to the kitchen. In the middle of the floor was a little pile of straw; and on it, five large eggs. He was just-in time to see a brown hen disappearing through the broken window.

He decided to explore and, as he entered each new room, tried to imagine the house as it once was. But he couldn’t. The house was dead, and almost looked as if it had never been alive.

Eventually, he climbed the dark, twisting stairs. On the landing, he came into a clear pool of sunlight. He looked up and saw the hazy blue sky.

‘Guess those tiles had to come from somewhere,’ he said thoughtfully, remembering the debris in the garden. The sound of his own voice in the silence of the house was startling.

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