Stacy thinks moving house is hard, she has no idea...
Moving in is meant to be a new, exciting and thrilling thing. But for me, not so much. We have moved to the countryside outside of Inverness, in Scotland. Yay, fun. Not. Especially when the place you have come from is the noisy and busy depths of Courtenay Avenue in London, where I had lived since I was born, my whole life was there. My friends, my school and my family. But no, we have to move as far away as possible in this country, to ‘wee bonny Scotland'.
It's cold, it's wet, and it's isolated. Not one person for miles and the view of a grey and gloomy sea, crashing against the rocks spraying the murky and bleak water up into the equally dull sky.
Our house is an old and ancient Gothic type building. With all that grey effect wood and the weird gargoyle statues at the top of the building. It's pretty creepy as it has all these small and secretive rooms everywhere.
Dad said he got it cheep coz the ‘old biddy' who lived here died and had no family to leave it to. All I thought when he told me that I thought she was probably a lonely old woman who loved cats and had that weird old people's smell.
Going through the extremely large front door, with a brass effect handle and a door knocker in the style of a hand holding a small round-ish object I could not decipher, confirmed my suspicions about the smell. Standing in the door way I look at the things in the hall way. Big old paintings of the predecessors of this house, some very ancient and Victorian like others more in the style of the Edwardian period. (Yes I am an art buff for those who cannot tell the difference between the two periods.) Looking along the left of the hallway is a couple of antique furniture complete with antique vase and statues.
Across the hall, opposite the door there is a mirror with big bold swirls and intricate little flowers with words written on in some kind of foreign language. Its vastness takes up most of the wall next to which the great iron stairs climb up in a curve to the next floors. Looking into the mirror makes me feel cold and distant and as weird as it sounds, alone.
"Nice mirror huh?" I jump, startled, and look around to see my dad watching me. He seemed not to notice and carried on.
"Y'know the old Lady who used to live here left this stuff, and I thought why not keep it, it adds to the dramatic effect of the place." This is so typical of my dad, he is a real traditionalist and loves art almost as much as I do. I guess you could say I was mad since it would be an artists dream to live here and most of my friends had pointed out that I would blend in well with the scenery. Haha. Not. But I just don't like it here, I have a weird feeling about this place. Oh well, off to find my room, I guess.
Moving for Stacy may be difficult, but here at Rechlade Manor a whole different destiny awaits her...