The Win

by Alistair Lawrie

The win had haud in aboot the hoose aa nicht, its lang caal fingers fummlin at the locks, shooderin the windas, great dunts o’t catchin at his breath an leavin him shiverin in the silence o an instant afore the neist an then the neist, files takkin the haill hoose by its timmers an giein it a gweed shak. It was an aal hoose an aathin intil’t creakit, groaned or fuspert wi the win that came hirslin in aawye. Farivver he tried to sit there were draughts that creepit aboot his feet or blew their caal breath aroon his neck. He’d been here nae mair nor twa or three oors an it wis lang ere noo he’d startit in tae winnerin if he’d deen the richt thing by comin here ataa …

Jist fower or so oors syne he’d gotten aff the bus at the last stop doon at the herbour an withoot much thinkin aboot it went stracht owre tae far the aal hoose sat at the start o the pier richt on the sea waa, hingin owre the dunderin, crashin, croonin soun o the sea’s lang fecht wi the shore. It wis aa lockit up o coorse. Lang years syne twis his folk had sellt it an noo the National Trust echt it. A museum o fishin life. He lookit ower intil the darkness ahin far the herbour announced its presence wi a hollow duntin as the twa or three cobles at were aa at wis left were rattled files thegither by the heavy swaal. Aye a museum richt eneuch. Iss had been his great granda’s hoose, fisher tae the been, like aa his folk afore him. An noo… he turned back to the high crawstep gabled hoose an lookit up at the darkent windas. He’d nivver set fit in the place but his mither files wid spik aboot it an foo muckle she loved bidin there fan she wis a bairn. “Ye aye could hear the sea an on stormy nichts I’d lie cosy in my bed an hear the watter rummlin aboot aneth the hoose far there wis a wee jetty aye there doon by the cellar. I’d faa asleep dreamin o smugglers an pirates. It wis aye excitin tae be there. An granda Pow wid tak ye on his knee an ask, noo quinie faa’s een are ee an fit’s yer name, for he’d as mony grandchildren he’d lost track o them aa.” He could hear his mither’s voice. Fit a peety they’d ivver let it be sellt. But that had been Peem. The thocht soored his mood files an he turned as a splyter o weet struck him on the face.
He lookit up abeen the wee hoosies couriet aneth the cliff waa, up tae far here an there a line o scattered lichts showed the hooses on the road up fae the herbour tae the toon. Peem’s hoose wis up there. Withoot further adee he steppit across the roch granite slabs o the slip at the herbour’s end an crossed ower tae the road gaan up the brae. Despite or files on accoont o the scattert lampposts wi their pools o fuzzy licht the wye up wis fair shroodit in mirk. A shadda himsel he slippit past the first hooses wi their outside steps tae the first fleers an their bleeze o lichted windas, up an on till the row ayont far only a wee trickle o licht peered oot fae a puckle curtains’ edges. An up still. The brae, ayewis steep, seemed steeper yet in the darkness.

The hoose sat on its ain at the heid o the road. Hine up on the heuch an abeen the stragglet row o hooses that curved roon up the seawart side o the road. Jist on the ae side. On tither side an for the maist pairt aa the way up, a hillock, aa grown up wi nettles an ill thriven bushes an stuntit trees pokin branches ootower the road, lourt ower its crummlin waa. Exceptin for halfwyes up far a wee bit iron gate shut in some kind o holy well. Saint Fillan’s wis’t or Drostan’s or some like saintly chiel fae lang ago. He crossed ower tae hae a look an peered in the gatherin dark through the railins an hingin briar stems tae far he could jist aboot mak oot  a wee fite basin set intil the waa, aa fu o dust, deid leafs an scraps o paper. The hooses ower by were aa smoret wi dark as he crossed back. An seen he wis at the last o them, a patch o darkent scrub atween him an the cliff edge an a win that catcht in his teeth wi caal as he hurried up tae the hoose that loomed aheid, darklins. Peem’s. Nae that he wis there ony mair. Jist the last o his dothers, Auntie Rachel. Bein oot o the win in the lee o the hooses as he’d come up the brae, he hadna kent jist foo roch it had gotten. A houlin o win wis ruggin at his claes, styterin him aff his feet. He elbowed his wye aheid till he wun at the hoose but eence there the win if onythin seemed even waar.

Efter the hoose the road turned clear awa fae the sea towards twa or three ill favourt empty lookin  cooncil hooses an, ayont at, through the darkness came the loom o a bourrach o well lit bungalows that were the start o the upper toun far the banks an the shoppies an the skweel an the kirk aa couriet couthily awa fae the sea. Here at the corner neist to the hoose hunkert a low dyke o crummlin steen wi an entrance, or gap mair like, that led tae a path alang the tap o the cliff. He peered intil’t but the mirk wis as deep ye couldna see mair nor the beginnins o the path an hear the win rustlin and fustlin ower fitivver wis oot there.

He shivert an turned back tae the hoose itsel, tae its gable end waa, settin its blank whitewashed windaless expanse o steen against the wild heuch, its darkness and ragin wins. The door wis kind o a surprise ayewis, richt at the extreme left o the hoose front as if there should be anither hoose efter’t, richt neist tae that great blank gable end. It aye lookit oot o place at the edge o sic wildness wi its polished reid sandsteen steps an dark green fower panelled door aneth a queer like star-shaped fanlicht wi a dim glimmer o licht intil’t. She maun still be up. A blowter o win near took him clean aff his feet as he chappit at the door. Naethin happened. Nae mair licht. An then efter a whilie a feathery voice wis spierin, “Fa’s at?”
“It’s me, Rachel.”
“Ye’ve come then. Ye’d best come in.”

He’d tae tak haud o the door as it opened for the force o the win near caad it in ontil the aal wife ahin it. Like a skelf she wis, nae mair than a rustlin o claes, grey aa owre like a wee wizent hen. Grey aboot the face anaa. The first thing he noticed wis the foosty smell, age an damp an dust aa inthegither, as strong it jawed oot a muckle wave o’t for aa that the win wis near blawin him through the door. Fit licht there wis wis comin fae an opent door at the end o a dark wee lobby, hung aa owre wi picters it wis, ower dark tae see. She took his arm in her thin bony fingers an led him owre the doorsteen an alang tae a door at the richt that opent intil a kind o kitchen sittin room. There wis mair licht here but still gey dim. It wis like walkin intil an aal phota. A muckle high backit ermcheer sat by the fireplace, happit up wi faded cushions. Aside it wis a table wi a puckle framed picters o the sisters. Richt in the middle o the room sat a great hulkit table that micht eence hae been fae a dining room but, for aa that the cloth coverin’t wis clean an fite, the table itsel looked aal an scufft an scruffit kind an aneth the cloth wis a muckle stourie brocade coverin, wi tassles hingin doon, at lookit mair like a carpet nor onythin else. Fit licht there wis came fae the ae bulb in a crocheed flooery shade that wis sair in need o aa gweed dustin. The waas aboot hid picters tee bit twis ower mirk tae see them . The fire bleezed awa richt eneuch but he could hear the win roarin doon the lum an rattlin at the damper. Well eesed fire irons sat by the grate and a polished bou-backit hood bent doon ower its tap like some kind o beak. Jist ayont up twa steps an through a heavy curtain that fluffert back an fore wi a draft wis the scullery.
“There’s tae brewed. Awa an poor yersel a cuppie.”
He pushed the heavy velvet tee, thinkin it wisna jist the smell, it even felt damp an mochie kind. The scullery wis a lang thin room doon the side o the hoose wi a cooker, a sink, a shelf an a cheer an sma table at the far end neist tae the smaest bit winda an the door tae the backie. It wis o cheap hardboard wi a wee rectangle o gless in’t that wis rattlin an shakkin as if fit tae burst in. A cup an saucer were waitin for him on the shelf. He near drappit them baith fan the scullery door rattled even louder an fae outside came a rhythmic bangin, an angry regular din like an ill natert bairn.
“The door tae the oothouse’s come lowse. Gwa you oot an mak it ticht.”
He unsneckit the ootside door an forced himself oot intae the win. The backie stretched the lenth o the hoose but there wis nae mair than fower or five feet fae the waa o the hoose an a great steen ootside dyke sieven or acht feet high, closed in at baith ends, makkin a rectangular, flagsteened space atween the hoose an the cliff edge. He lookit ower at the waa an shivered, an turned awa quick kind. On tither side o that waa there wis naethin, exceptin nae mair nor a foot o crummlin, brickly muild that slopit sharp doon owre the cliff tae the sea an rocks hine ablow. Inside, it wis mair like a closie than a back yard. The only wye intil’t wis through the hoose. It felt mair like a win tunnel aenoo an there alang at the hinnermaist end the door tae the ootside lavvie wis bangin open an shut like as tae come aff its hinges.
Keepin his shooder close tae the hoose waa for shelter he hirslet across tae the door, pit it tee and tied some tow ticht roon its sneck. There wis a wee pitch-black space atween the toilet an the ooter waa far it angled in tae meet the hinner end o the watterie. He minded bein feart o that waa an fit lay ahin it fan he was a loon. Eence he’d clum owre’t an dreepit doon tae stan, feet slitherin aneth him, on that foot or so o slopin grun abeen the cliff an fan he turned back feart, at first he couldna get his feet tae haud eneuch tae gie him purchase back up the waa an thocht he wis awa for sure. Syne his cousin fit’s his name, the een fa’d egged him on tae dee’t, leaned owre the waa an gied him a haun up. He’d had nichtmares for weeks aboot that waa. It feared him yet. As did the hoose.

Back in the scullery, he poured mair het water in the cup an pushed past the heavy curtain tae the livin room, pit his cup on the table an sat doon, aye yet tryin tae mind the cousin’s name.  
“I wisna sure ye’d come.” A whisper, nae mair.
“Aye weel I’m nae bidin lang.”
“No.”
He drunk his tae.
“It wis granda said tae come, that he couldna manage. He wis gettin owre aal. My da said he wisna for haein ony pairt o’t.”
“No. It’s nae bleed o his.”
“So fit is’t I’ve tae dee? Aa Granda’d say wis I’d ken fan I got here. I ken it’s tae dee wi Peem.”
“I dinna ken, loon. He nivver tellt me, jist gaed aff tae thon room …”
“Aye Peem’s.”
“Naa naa my loon. It’s my uncle’s room up yon stairs. Peem had the room abeen iss.”
“Granda? But …”
“No that’s Daavit’s room. My uncle Daavit.”
“I thocht there wis only twa …”
“Three o them there wis but Daavit … a bonny loonie wi takkin ways but he wisna … jist richt. He wis keepit in the muckle room at the tap o the hoose. For his ain gweed. Peem lookit efter him till he wis teen fae us. Efterhauns your granda came fan twis needed.” She sat back a mintie, catchin her breath.
“Is he still up there? He maun be foo aal by noo? Fit needs deein?”
“Maistly jist tae be up there for iss ae nicht. That’s aa I ken, aa they ivver tellt me. I nivver ging up there.”
“So fit wye does he get lookit efter? Get his meat?”
“He’s nae need o that , Daavit’s been awa lang years syne.”
“So fit …?”
“Ivry few years there comes a nicht. Peem aye kent fan twis aye your granda tee. An they’ve tae spend the nicht up there. It wis as if the hoose kent.”
“Fit wye could I be here as a loon an nae ken naethin aboot iss? I’ve nivver liked iss hoose mind. There wis aye something aboot it…”
“We kept you clear o’t. Your mither saw tae that. I dinna ken if the hoose has ivver likit you.”
“Weel I’m here noo. I’d better tak a look tae see fit’s fit. We’ll spik the morn.”
She jist noddit, stood up shakky kind an went ower tae the door. Syne turned.
“Jist mak sure you bide inaboot at room till mornin.”
“Fit wye would I nae?”
But she wis awa ben intae her room. He sat on for a whilie starin at the dyin ashes in the grate, listenin tae the win howlin an the bullerin o the sea afore giein himself a shak, risin, an lichtin a cannle, gaan oot intae the lobby.
Cannel in hand, he crossed the lobby tae the fit o stairs, past the wee room far she’d be beddit. Shaddas jostlit an joukit wi een another aheid o him as he gaed up. An up, the steps ilk een creakin aneth his feet as the haill hoose shook an shiddert in the win’s grip. The first landin wis darker still, picters on the waas peered oot at him as he went alang tae far a cheap panelled door opent on til the steers tae the attic. He unlockit it an turned his heid awa at the smoran stink o damp at met him. The steers were narra an his feet lood an dunderin on the widden steps. The door at the tap wis a muckle solid lookin affair that didna sit richt wi the plain linoed steers, the cheap pented waas. It opened easily eneuch an he gaed in. The brass switch for the lichts wis workin but the licht itsel wis dim like aawye else in the hoose. It wis caal an damp tee but thankfully there wisna muckle smell.

A big room it stretchit the full lenth o the hoose, the haill attic space an, for an attic, it had a roof that wisna ower low. A writin table tae his left didna look as if it’d been eesed in years. He set the cannel ontil’t but didna blaa it oot for fear the storm interfered wi the electrics. He turned tae the richt far the room stretcht awa tae the sad wee fireplace at the far end wi its teem chimley an its aal gas fire in the grate.  A big high backit cheer wis neist till’t an in the far richt corner, set intae the waa wis a recess wi a box bed intil’t, aa made up an ready, quilt an bedhap turned back. A row o twa or three gas mantle lichts wis still in place doon that same waa, the seawart waa, files on tither were a couple o windas lookin ower tae the street ablow. Nae windas lookit oot at the sea. But he could hear it. Ayewis there, files a laich like angert growl syne at times great waves would sclatter up an crash agin the cliff wi a fury, beatin spittin batterin the cliff ahin the hoose like as if tae draw its strenth awa, afore drawin, seepin itsel awa like breath through gritted teeth, syne eence mair it growled and grummelt afore eence mair it crashed richt back again. An then again.  There wis an illkindetness, an illwill aboot its roarin voice he thocht as if it wanted him awa. Or wis’t the hoose it didna like?

He pit his jaiket owre a cheer by the bed and switched on a wee electric fire aside the fireplace. A single bar gave oot a wabbit glim o licht an hardly ony heat. Fit aboot the bed? He pit his hand aneth the bedclaes tae feel for damp an felt something roch kind atween his fingers so hault the covers back tae find the bed wis clartit wi wee white wormies, weevil like things. Een stuck on his finger an curlt itsel aboot on its tip. Wi a grue he shook it aff an pulled the covers back ower. Far would he sleep? It’d hae tae be the big cheer. It lookit comfy eneuch but his scunner at the bed gart him check the cushions, doon its sides, aa ower in fact afore he settlet intil’t an hault his coat aboot him , coverin himself as best he could tae keep awa the drauchts. He winnert if he wis richt tae come ataa …

… Ootside the win cam blatterin against the winda wi anither scudder o rain. An anither. Een efter tither like a kind o rhythm, a pulse. Efter a whilie the coat startit tae het up wi his body heat an fit wi that an feelin safe an bieldit fae the howlin ragin win that ruggit at the reef abeen his heid he began tae dover …
Syne waakent wi a kind o wee lowp. Nae avaa still sleepy but wide waukent. Aa at eence, his hert beatin quick kind. Aathin still an quaet, nae a breath o win. The room wis near pitch black aa but the glint o the cannel still lichtit on the table at the far end o the room. The power maun hae been cut by the storm wis aa he thocht but, even as he thocht it, as he peered intil the mirk a queerlike greenie lowe flickered, stirred an seepit its way through the darkness till the haill room had an eerie glow but aye wi that queer green loom till’t that flickert an gart aathin seem like it wis aneth water. It took a minute afore he kent jist fit wis wrang wi’t.
It wis comin fae the gas mantles on the waa. Ilk een wis alowe, ableeze wi that muggie licht. It wisna as much a licht files as that the dark itsel had turned visible. An yet ower by the bed a bit o darkness bid on, an ingatherin o shaddas. A wisp nae mair but as he watchit close it growed an spreid an boukit itsel oot intiil somethin like a shape. A tendril o that mirk startit tae stretch itsel oot lang an thin til fit … wis’t like a haun wis at a finger .. a finger or a haun that caad him ower … an …   
… an as it did the win rose up eence mair.

The haill room seemed tae shak an flichter, like as if it wisna aa there at eence or that aathin wis there aa at the same time or like bits o’t were comin an gaan; as if twis at odds wi itsel aboot far it wis aye an fan it wis; he seemed tae see folk an then they were awa an the furnitur wis ae thing neist anither aathin wis aye changing; faces bits o folk appeart -  his granda, fit he took for Peem, anither man wi impty een that lookit like the cousin fa’s name he couldna mind, himself as a wee loon, his cousin -  but in aneth it aa the room wis still jist as he fund it, like it wis a screen  on which thae picters passed. An aa the time there wis a dirlin in his heid an a ringin hissin kind o soun that mixed in wi the hirslin o the win like angry breath. The win wis in the room wis in his heid, aathin wis blawin skyterin an fleerin nae findin rest an somethin there wis that wisna richt that wis … He kent he note tae bide but couldna. The door hung open like an invitation, an escape. An even files he took it he kent it wisna richt but on he stumbled clattered near trippin owre hasty in his rush tae get awa tae get doon the steers syne there he wis at the door o Rachel’s room ower frichtened files tae knock an in he tummelt tae find there wis naethin there. Nae jist nae furnitur or an impty room, nae room wis there ataa, jist a swirlin kind o greyish haar  …    exceptin for the waa, that ootside backie waa that feart him as a bairn its great grey mass noo higher than he mindit on an ilka time he lookit it wis nearer  yet till that it wis in his face as close at haun he verra near could feel its roch cement steen blocks against his lips an feel Oh crummlin aneth his slippin feet the shilpit muildy slope. Ootside the waa. He wis. Oh Lord  The win startit intil ruggin at his claes as he lookit up for a haun that wisna there.