Ξ February 17th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Misc |

Stumbleupon Review


    When we got to the strange house it began to snow in quite a different way. A mass of tired old clouds opened and flung snow at us, all of a sudden and just anyhow. They weren't ordinary snowflakes - they fell straight down in large sticky lumps, they clung to each other and sank quickly and they weren't white, but grey. The whole world was as heavy as lead.
    Mummy carried in the suitcases and stamped her feet on the doormat and talked the whole time because she thought the whole thing was such fun and that everything was different.

    But I said nothing because I didn't like this strange house. I stood in the window and watched the snow falling, and it was all wrong. It wasn't the same as in the town. There it blew black and white over the roof or falls gently as if from heaven, and forms beautiful arches over the sitting-room window. The landscape looked dangerous too. It was bare and open and swallowed up the snow, and the trees stood in black rows that ended in nothing. At the end of the world there was a narrow fringe of forest. Everything was wrong. It should be winter in town and summer in the country. Everything was topsy-turvey.

    The house was big and empty, and there were too many rooms. Everything was very clean and you could never hear your won steps as you walked because the carpets were so big and they were as soft as fur.

    If you stood in the furthest room, you could see through all the other rooms and it made you feel sad; it was like a train ready to leave with its lights shining over the platform. The last room was dark like the inside of a tunnel except for a faint glow in the gold frames and the mirror which was hung too high on the wall. All the lamps were soft and misty and made a very tiny circlr of light. And when you ran you made no noise.

    It was just the same outside. Soft and vague, and the snow went on falling and falling.

    I asked why we were living in this strange house but got no proper answer. Ther person who cooked the food was hardly ever to be seen and didn't talk. She padded in without one noticing her and then out again. The door swung to without a sound and rocked backwards and forwards for a long time before it was still. I showed that I didn't like this house by keeping quiet. I didn't say a word.

    In the afternoon the snow was even greyer and fell in flocks and stuck to the window-panes and then slid down, and new flocks appeared out of the twilight and replaced them. They were like grey hands with a hundred fingers. I tried to watch one all the way down as it fell, it spread out and fell, faster and faster. I stared at the next one and the next one and in the end my eyes began to hurt and I got scared.

    It was hot everywhere and there was enough room for crowds of people but there were only the two of us. I said nothing.

    Mummy was happy and rushed all over the place saying: "What peace and quiet! Isn't is lovely and warm!" And so she sat down at the big shiny table and began to draw. She took the lace tablecloth off and spread out all her illustrations and opened the bottle of Indian ink.

    Then I went upstairs. The stairs creaked and groaned and made lots of noises that stairs make when a family has gone up and down them for ages. That's good. Stairs should do that sort of thing. One knows exactly which steps squeaks and which one doesn't and where one has to tread id one doesn't want to make oneself heard. It was just that this staircase wasn't out staircase. Quite a different family had used it. Therefore I thought the staircase was creepy.


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