Taking The Wrong Turn

• Jemima Williamson-wong, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2013

That afternoon was warm but stormy. The sky was dark with thunder as I walked up to the building. The winds blew my hair on every direction. The building stood alone palely lit as though all of the light bulbs but one were broken, their light extinguished. The paintwork was peeling and the colours faded with age. I glanced around the room as I pushed the door open, and I smelt that smell my grandpa and grandma had in their house, dusty and old. As I stepped inside, the floorboards creaked underneath me, and the sound echoed throughout the building. I found my way to a seat and it was then that I noticed the receptionist. Her beady eyes stared at me underneath her pointy glasses. She was as thin as a broomstick, her shirt was a dull purple and the cardigan a dull pink to match it. Her clothes hung loosely around her. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head with a faded red scrunchie that looked like it had seen better days. She sat behind a shabby desk, the computer in front of her held together with sticky tape. She stood up and pushing her chair behind her, walked over to me. Her shoes clicked on the timber floor.
“ Why are you here?” She inquired. Her voice was firm and strict. It echoed off the walls back at me making her seem bigger and stronger than she looked.
“ I have an appointment with Mrs. Valerie Hollow,” I said trying to sound valiant. It really didn’t work; my voice was shaking.
“ Yes Mrs. Hollow said there would be a – creature - coming for tea today,” She said as she walked back to her desk and pressed the intercom button.
“ Mrs. Hollow, there is someone here for you.”
“ What’s the name?” Mrs. Hollow growled through the intercom, her voice was very different to the receptionist. It was low, raspy and breathless as though she had just run a marathon.
“ What’s your name?” The receptionist asked.
“Alex,” I replied
“ The names Alex.” She replied into the intercom.
“ Bring Alex through then,” Mrs. Hollow growled.
The receptionist pushed herself out of the chair and it groaned as her fingers tightened around the arms. She walked over to me and said.
“Second door on the right,” she said.
“ Thank you.” As I walked down the corridor I could hear the receptionist’s shoes going click, click, click back to her desk. When I reached the door I knocked. The sound echoed off the plastered walls.
“Come in,” came the voice from behind the door.
As I walked into the room I knew that I had done the wrong thing coming here.