2 The Curious Metamorphosis of Edna Fossell

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.