Andrew Taylor - The Leper House

I didn’t have much choice. At this point the road was wide enough to leave the car where it was – there was room for traffic to pass, assuming any traffic wanted to. I fastened the jacket up to my chin, locked the Honda and set off down the lane, pursued by the orange pulse of the hazard lights.

After fifty yards or so, the road swung left. The flashing lights vanished. I was alone with the rain and the sound of my own footsteps.

I had forgotten how dark it can be in the country. It’s never dark in London. I’ve always been a city-dweller. There were neither stars nor a moon. The torch beam shone directly in front of me, illuminating the surface of the road. It gave off such an inadequate and partial light that it had the paradoxical effect of emphasizing the darkness rather than dispelling it.

It was also very quiet. That wasn’t something I was used to, either. I heard my footsteps and the rustle of the rain and the wind. There was another sound, a faint but continuous roar that came and went in the distance, growing steadily louder.

The sea.

As I turned the corner the wind leapt at me with extra force, nearly knocking me over. It was so violent, so elemental, that I stopped in my tracks and wondered whether to retreat to the car.

It was then that I saw the light, a speck in the darkness. It was difficult to measure the distance, but it looked about a hundred yards away.

I cupped my hands and shouted. The wind blew my words back at me. I set off towards the light, forcing myself to a stumbling run, the torchlight wavering in front of me.

Almost at once the surface of the lane deteriorated. The tarmac gave way to what felt like mud interspersed with the occasional island of hard core. Rain soaked the lower part of my trousers. My face was wet. When I licked my lips I tasted the tang of salt.

The sea was very close now, its rolling roar angrier and louder. That was the moment I realized that this ridiculous adventure was no longer just time-wasting and inconvenient. It was becoming increasingly unpleasant. I was even growing a little scared. This was not a night to be outside, especially not in the middle of nowhere.

The lane ended in a gate with a stile beside it. The source of the light was somewhere beyond it. It seemed no closer than it had been before.

I passed through the stile and into a field that sloped down towards what I assumed was the sea. The surface was too uneven for running in the dark – I didn’t want to sprain an ankle – so I slowed to a walk. The force of the wind was stronger here. It wrapped itself around me, pushing me away from the light. The grinding of the sea filled my ears.

I heard a cry. Just for a moment – a high wordless sound, instantly swallowed by the sea. It could have been human. Or from a bird or a fox. It was a cry, that’s all, barely audible in all the racket and devoid of personality.

The light was nearer now, a faint yellow glow. I shone the torch ahead. This time, as well as the slivers of rain, it picked out what looked like masonry. The light was to the left of it and beyond it, on the seaward side.

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