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Maggie

I wake up to the scent of death, damp and apples. It always smells like that here. Mother tells me that a rodent must have died in the walls, but I'm unsure. I don't know how something so small could unleash such an ungodly odour.

Even though it's past nine, my room is still dark. The branches from the orchard outside my window obscure the light and I'm in permanent darkness.

I hate it here. But mother said we had to leave our old home after the incident.

I consider staying in bed for another hour or so. I'm tired. I woke up twice. Once during the night when I thought I'd heard a weird grunting sound coming from outside. The second in the early morning – I think father was tending to the orchard. I can hear bustling downstairs though – probably Ginny, our maid, making breakfast. And I'm ravenous.

I step out of the covers, grab my dressing gown and make my way into the hallway. The floorboards creak below my bare feet as I pass the mould infested walls and head down the stairs.

We've been here for just over a week now, but it doesn't feel like a home, I don't think it ever will.

It must have been a grand place once; seven bedrooms, a servant's quarter, decorative rugs, expensive wallpaper. But now it's an echo of that. The rooms are unused, the rugs threadbare, the wallpaper peeling, and a thick coat of cobwebs conceal the grandeur. It's too big for the three of us. My parents said it would be good for us to move here. Good to get away after what happened...but I don't know how this house could be good for anyone– the whole place gives me the creeps.

I trudge into the kitchen and am surprised to see mother cooking bacon, rather than the maid.

"Where's Ginny?"

Mother starts and turns around. Though it's early she's already dressed in a navy blue trouser suit. Her greying blonde hair is tied neatly back in a bun and she's wearing a full face of makeup. Wrapped around her waist is Ginny's floral apron.

"Oh darling, it's been such a palaver. The little tramp left us. After one week, can you believe it?!"

I shiver, taking a seat at the big, oak kitchen table by the hearth. The weak flames from the grate don't do much to keep me warm. The damp of this place seems to seep into my bones. I've felt cold since I got here.

"Oh," I say, "she didn't say she was leaving. Where did she go?"

It's not like I've known her long but I'm still sad she's gone. I liked her. She was only a few years older than me and it was nice to have someone to talk to in this god awful dump.

Mother shrugs and goes back to her cooking.

"Who cares where she went? She was slovenly, lazy...have you seen the state of the place. I caught her napping on the job at least three times."

She shakes her head.

"You were far too friendly with her, Margaret, The girl was beneath you. And now she's proved it." She plates up a bacon sandwich and passes it to me, smiling sweetly as she notices my face, "Don't worry, darling, we'll get another one. I have someone coming round to interview this afternoon. Now eat up and go and pick me some apples from the orchard. I want to make strudel for dinner."

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