Chapter Twenty-Two
Title: Sorrel
Tasted horrible.
But then the sun stopped shining over the back of the house- oh and wasn’t Mitchell pleased?- and then everything died.
Suitable for a house of monsters really.
But the cabbages grew.
No one in the house actually ate cabbages though.
Which was disappointing.
I’d had to throw them in the compost bin.
I’d had to buy one specially.
It’s a bit pathetic actually, just got these limp dead cabbages at the bottom of this bin.
I can just about see it, I’m sitting in the kitchen.
Annie’s flapping around me, pushing mugs filled with… something, hot chocolate? Tea? Coffee? At me.
It’s tea. I realise taking a sip.
It’s not bad, it’s a bit too sweet. Full of sugar. Yuck.
Hits me right at the back of my throat.
“Are you alright George?”
That feels like the only question I’ve been asked since I left the hospital.
Which is ridiculous, I’m getting stronger every day.
There are only a couple to days till the full moon now.
Ironically though, I might be feeling so much stronger… but I’m not better.
I can’t tell Annie that though, she’d just panic. She’s in enough of a panic about the fact that Mitchell hasn’t been seen since I returned to the house.
Which was… I don’t know how long.
About five days maybe?
“I’m fine Annie.”
She doesn’t believe me.
She’s more perceptive than I’d thought.
I drag myself into the living room and although I’m got a mug of ‘warm’ tea in my hand Annie brings another one with her.
I don’t require hot beverages on the hour, every hour.
It’s not like medication.
Well I suppose to Annie it is, that’s all that she can do. Being a ghost that is.
Not that it’s really her fault, but she is a ghost. Can’t actually do anything.
Other than flap like a mother hen.
Who has lost her chicks.
And she has, Mitchell’s disappeared, no word, no note, nothing.
And I’m looking like the living dead.
Great bags under my eyes, feeling about a hundred and ninety, hobbling around, even though I’m meant to be better.
I discharged myself, even though I’m still as weak as a kitten- a puppy even- I’m physically getting better.
I don’t understand how it can work, but then how a person turns into a wolf once a month either.
It’s all illogical.
And it’s all a matter of time.
Tasted horrible.
But then the sun stopped shining over the back of the house- oh and wasn’t Mitchell pleased?- and then everything died.
Suitable for a house of monsters really.
But the cabbages grew.
No one in the house actually ate cabbages though.
Which was disappointing.
I’d had to throw them in the compost bin.
I’d had to buy one specially.
It’s a bit pathetic actually, just got these limp dead cabbages at the bottom of this bin.
I can just about see it, I’m sitting in the kitchen.
Annie’s flapping around me, pushing mugs filled with… something, hot chocolate? Tea? Coffee? At me.
It’s tea. I realise taking a sip.
It’s not bad, it’s a bit too sweet. Full of sugar. Yuck.
Hits me right at the back of my throat.
“Are you alright George?”
That feels like the only question I’ve been asked since I left the hospital.
Which is ridiculous, I’m getting stronger every day.
There are only a couple to days till the full moon now.
Ironically though, I might be feeling so much stronger… but I’m not better.
I can’t tell Annie that though, she’d just panic. She’s in enough of a panic about the fact that Mitchell hasn’t been seen since I returned to the house.
Which was… I don’t know how long.
About five days maybe?
“I’m fine Annie.”
She doesn’t believe me.
She’s more perceptive than I’d thought.
I drag myself into the living room and although I’m got a mug of ‘warm’ tea in my hand Annie brings another one with her.
I don’t require hot beverages on the hour, every hour.
It’s not like medication.
Well I suppose to Annie it is, that’s all that she can do. Being a ghost that is.
Not that it’s really her fault, but she is a ghost. Can’t actually do anything.
Other than flap like a mother hen.
Who has lost her chicks.
And she has, Mitchell’s disappeared, no word, no note, nothing.
And I’m looking like the living dead.
Great bags under my eyes, feeling about a hundred and ninety, hobbling around, even though I’m meant to be better.
I discharged myself, even though I’m still as weak as a kitten- a puppy even- I’m physically getting better.
I don’t understand how it can work, but then how a person turns into a wolf once a month either.
It’s all illogical.
And it’s all a matter of time.