The house was as unsettled as I felt. It made noises through the night that would have been embarrassing had they been emanating from a bedroom but were just creepy on their own. One of the windowpanes in my room was cracked, fracturing my view and the protection from the wind. It whistled in through the minuscule gaps between the pieces of glass and made me shiver, even wrapped in the down comforter that had been left on my bed. I flung it forward and dove for the woollen blanket on the end, pulling them both back up with me and folding the comforter’s edge over the blanket so the wool wouldn’t scratch me in my sleep. The trees painted shadows on the wall that moved in time with the house’s moans and groans, squeaks and creaks. I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, something would drive them open again. It was silly. I knew that. Just took some getting used to sleeping in a new place. That’s all. It just would’ve really helped if the wind didn’t sound like someone screaming out in the highlands. Melville |
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enthralled
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curious
silly
artistic
