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The House on Strathderry Hill


The House on Strathderry Hill
Jimmy led the way inside and immediately both men noticed that there were
similar scratch marks along the wooden floor and halfway up the staircase.
‘Maybe that was this Legless Mary, maybe she came home drunk one night
and couldn’t make it up to her bed,’ Harry laughed.
‘You’d think she’d have got a wheelchair or something instead of messing up
the good floorboards,’ Jimmy joked, feeling an icy chill fill the air, as though
someone had sped right passed by him and the front door slammed shut.
‘Don’t bang the door like that Harry.’
‘I never touched it, it must’ve been the draught or something; the backdoor’s
open. Hey, those scratches are even over the floor in the sitting room too.’
‘I think the scratches were probably made by a wild cat or something. A good
industrial sander will have the floors looking like new in no time, Harry.
Just then, Harry’s wife called him on his mobile phone insisting that he
returned home as their ten year old daughter had been taken into hospital
with suspected appendicitis.
So, with a few cans of Dutch courage, Jimmy began the repairs to the house
on his own, working constantly through as night began to fall. It was then that
Jimmy realised there was no electricity, so he set off down the hill on foot
hoping to buy some candles or lamps, and, have something to eat.
‘Ah now, you didn’t heed my warning then?’ The barman sighed heavily.
‘You’d be doing yourself a favour now and going back over the border, tis not
safe up there__ tis an ungodly place to be living.’
‘You don’t expect me to believe all that rubbish about this__ whatever the
name was, now do you?’
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