PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinnerr
‘How long’s it been derelict?’ said Abbott.
Daniels referred to his notebook. ‘About four years.’
‘Is that all?’
The plaster had sloughed off the walls to show wooden laths, the ribs of the house exposed. He smelled Tom cat. Blankets in one corner, a stub of candle, a twist of tin foil – someone had been there, maybe not for a while.
‘Where is it?’
Daniels nodded towards a doorway. Light spilled through cracks onto warped floorboards.
‘It flows like liquid,’ whispered Abbott. ‘And the colours … Like oil on water.’
‘That’s not the weirdest thing,’ said Daniels, opening the door.