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.
Ooooohhhhh…….