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3

It seemed to take forever to reach the doorway to the room that was glowing. With every step, the procession grew less sure of itself.
Ed remained at the front, propelled forwards by the slow momentum from those behind him. Considering they had only just met, this posse had become very intimate, very quickly.
Reaching the doorway, Ed put the brakes on. He wanted to see what was inside the room, and where the light was coming from. All that was visible from where the group stood was the back of a red velvet armchair, and a pair of slippers.
This was clearly a sitting room. There were occasional tables, vases, books and trinkets. The room was orderly and presentable, but a little eerie at the same time. The red armchair was the only seat.
Pressure began to mount behind Ed once more, and he found himself moving forward again. Before he knew it, he and the six other green-eyed visitors were over the threshold, and the procession broke apart. Now they stood in a line, looking around them, and wondering what came next.
One of the seven – Number Three, who was a woman in her forties, couldn’t take her eyes off the back of the armchair. As she stared, she suddenly realised that, just visible above the headrest were silver white threads, wisps that danced slowly in a jerky rhythm, the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Looking at the slippers next, Number Three saw them move slightly, too, and realised they were occupied. Nestled in that armchair, largely hidden from view, was a person.
“Look!” whispered Number Three excitedly. “There’s someone here.”
This shouldn’t have come as a surprise to the visitors. They had been invited here. This was someone’s house. But the abstract nature of the situation had rendered them all rather nervous.

Remembering his manners, and that he was a fully-grown man with an expensive education and many letters to his name, Ed decided to “man up”. He walked around to the front of the armchair. His comrades sidled along in his wake. The closer they got, the more they saw of the chair’s occupant. It was an old lady. Small and frail, with hair of pure silver, tied up messily on top of her head. Her posture was poor, and even sitting, the visitors could make out the hump on her back. With a slightly hooked nose and wrinkled skin, this old lady couldn’t have looked more witchlike. She was mesmerising.
“Hello?” Ed thought he should instigate the formalities. “Er, hello? Excuse me, madam, but we, er…”
Before he could finish, Ed and the others found themselves taking a big step back. The lady in the chair began to move. Her feet twitched, and her fingers grasped at the air. She took a deep breath, and the intake of oxygen seemed to rejuvenate her. Her back straightened, her head rose up off her chest and then, when she was facing her visitors, she opened her eyes.
She did not smile at her guests. Neither did she shriek at the sudden appearance of seven strangers. Instead, the old lady surveyed them, one by one, and seemed to miss nothing. Her eyes devoured every detail about them, and her fingers twitched excitedly at her lap. But her mouth remained set in a line, even when she leaned forward to study Visitor Five’s shoes.
There would be no pleasantries.
“Madam,” said Ed, unnerved but also frustrated by this woman. “We hope we’re in the right place. We were asked here, you see.”
The old lady’s eyes darted to Ed. She focused on him, and seemed entertained, although no smile touched her mouth. With great effort, she stood, then came forward until she could reach out and hold Ed’s face. This she did, studying it now with touch, to his great discomfort. But his manners were stoic.
“Yes,” she croaked, when she’d finished. “I know.” Then she turned to face them all, piercing them all with her authoritative green-eyed stare. “I know who you all are.”
Ed didn’t like her manner, and that, added to the unwelcome physical contact she’d just inflicted on him, meant he was about ready to leave. This mystery wasn’t worth it. But just as he was about to bolt for the door, the old woman spoke again.
“I asked you here,” she said. “I am Edna.”

2

For twenty three minutes, the rain lashed down upon the small crowd, huddled defencelessly on Purgatory’s doorstep. Nobody moved, apart from a few slight shuffles closer together, rather like penguins in the Arctic, as the individuals at the back tried to reach the relative protection of the small, recessed porch.
It was pointless, of course. By now they were all as wet as any clothed human could be.

On the twenty-fourth minute, the wind stopped. The silence that resulted was deafening in its purity. The rain, too, ceased its assault, and slowly, the huddled mass began to unfurl, like a dark, exotic flower, with steam rising from its parts.

As the strangers’ raincoats peeled asunder, normal conduct was resumed. Embarrassed coughs, sniffs and jerks shook off the memory of the proximity they had all just been forced to share.
And then, as if to detract from the awkwardness, nature provided a spectacular, psychedelic display as a rainbow shone down through the haze, above the bluey green expanse of seascape before them, and all seven visitors simply stopped in a bedraggled line and stared out to sea, agog.
As the sun emerged, vapours exuded from the now sweaty macs, and the rainbow disintegrated into the blue sky.
It was time to get back to the matter in hand.

Visitor Number One returned to the front door, and knocked again.
The other six strangers waited expectantly for something to happen. But still, the door remained unanswered. So, Visitor One rejoined the group, and an informal circle was formed. Maybe, together, they could come up with a plan.

Whilst facing each other in this uncomfortable pow-wow, a realisation hit the seven strangers as they looked at each other properly for the first time. They were no longer simply blurs in the rain. Despite their different clothes and varying ages, there was no escaping the fact that there was an uncanny likeness between each of them. They had the same dark, smooth hair, with or without a hint of grey. Their eyes were green, all fourteen of them, with pupils so well-lined in a thick, sharp, black circle that they almost looked alight. None of the seven visitors had ever seen such eyes before, except in a mirror.
Nobody spoke, as confusion struck the small crowd dumb, until a thick, grey, loaded cloud swung into position above, and forced the stalemate to end.
“Who are we?” asked Visitor Number One urgently, to nobody in particular and everyone at the same time.
Everybody shook their head. Not one of them could answer.      “OK,” continued Number One, sighing. “I know who I am. Let’s start with that.” He nodded, resolving to work this out. “My name is Edmund – Ed. I’m a solicitor from London. I received a letter last week, instructing me to come here. It was from somebody called E. Fossell.”
At this declaration, all of the others in the circle started rummaging in their pockets, and began digging out similar, sodden bits of paper, all riddled with the same intricate copperplate handwriting.
Visitor Number Seven, after brandishing his letter, also produced a key from his pocket, and held it aloft. “Do you think this is relevant?” he asked the group, aware that the grey cloud was now an ominous shade of black.
Ed stepped forward and took the key. As he studied it closely, he could just about make out an engraving on its side.
Yes, this was indeed the key to Purgatory.

Nobody quite knew what to do next. After the presentation of the key, who would have the courage to try it in the lock? Ed held it, and looked uncertainly around him. He wanted someone else to step up. Why did this always happen? His companions were all looking to him for their next move.
Sighing, Ed glared at the six faces in his midst, and gritted his teeth. He’d have to be the one to open the door.
Checking his letter once again, he made sure this was the right place – there could be only one “House on the Cliff” at this postcode. Then armed with the letter’s permission, he went to open up.
The key turned smoothly in the lock, and, somewhat surprisingly, the door didn’t creak as it opened.

The darkness within was palpable compared to the blinding bright seascape outside, and Ed’s instincts were telling him to flee. But, as he wasn’t alone, and intrigue had grabbed him, he decided to see this through.
Stepping inside, the first thing to strike Ed, plus the six others that followed closely behind him, was the sound of a clock. If there had been any doubt as to whether this house was occupied, somehow the clock’s heartbeat confirmed that it was. As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, the visitors began to make out the furniture, the rug – all incongruous, and not what you’d expect to find, this close to the sea, in the middle of open fields.
It felt big in here, bigger than any of them had expected. The house was neat, the furniture mostly modern.  The visitors found themselves in a long hallway, and the clock – of the grandfather variety, was at the far end. Almost instinctively, the little chain of people crept towards the clock, and to a dim light that glowed from a room at the end of the hall. Ed was in front, but for the first time, he was grateful for the strangers behind him. This would not have been much fun alone.

1

Prologue

It wasn’t a very nice evening for waiting on a doorstep for someone to answer.

The visitor, who had huddled himself as far into the small recess of the porch as he could, knocked hard, then quickly returned his hand to where it had been – clutching firmly to his rain mac to stop it blowing away. He faced the pebble-dashed wall, and tried to avoid getting water in his eyes.

Had it been a fine evening, this particular visitor might not still have been on the doorstep to even try knocking. The doorbell had failed to produce a response, and the knock was a last-ditch attempt.  But whatever it was that awaited him inside the house was, at this moment, a preferable option to venturing back out into the open. He didn’t have a change of clothes, and the mac was thin.

So, as he waited with his eyes closed, facing the wall, he was contemplating why anyone would want to live in a place like this. This house must surely be uninsurable, perched as it was this near to the cliff edge. The wind and the rain were so forcible here, as they swept directly off the sea. The gutters were not coping, and the roof tiles threatened to fly off at any moment.

Processing his situation, whilst trapped there on the porch, the first visitor did not hear the coming of the second. But, given the elements, it wasn’t long before they were sharing the tiny sheltered space without any introductions or pleasantries.

Considering the location of this house, where the visitors were now huddled, it was surprising that anyone would be visiting at all, let alone two people. This was the only dwelling in sight. There was sea to the south, and fields in all other directions. The track that led to the property was barely passable. But, despite this, through the weather, came two more visitors, one slightly ahead of the other.

The pattern continued as the weather grew worse, until seven people, of indeterminate sex and age had gathered together on and around the porch of this wild and unwelcoming residence. They could neither hear nor see each other as they were being drenched and buffeted so strongly. Conversation was futile.

The last person to arrive, finding himself at the back of the huddle, was able to catch a glimpse of the house’s name plate, drilled to the wall above the door. Through screwed-up eyes, he made out the letters that spelled the name.

Purgatory.

It seemed entirely appropriate.