Dortan Fauxfor-Green brandished his key, it was a long red-brown weathered affair with a pale cardboard tag hanging off it by string.
I would not do him any good at the moment, He stood – exasperated – between 998 and 1000 Diagonally St. 998b was supposed to be around here somewhere, I mean it was one thing that it hid from nair-do-wells, but it wasn’t supposed to hide from him.
He stabbed experimentally at the large yellow block brickwork that made up the tall thin three story inner-city terraced ‘mansion house’ that looked more like a Dutch narrowhouse than a mansion by his Shadow-side standards.
Then again, it was home, the least strange place in this world of strangeness, it was The Family’s, it kept him connected to his mother from this world, a mother he’d never known.
He started to turn away for a moment, then realised he’d caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Fixing intently at the fleeting vision he manage to resolve 998b Diagonal St. Finally no hiding from it’s occupant as well as everyone else!
Slipping in the old front door the narrow house was a ground floor hallway entirely populated with white walls and ebonised black wooden doors. After hanging up his jacket and umbrella he kicked off his spats, hung his bowler, and tried each in turn.
The Garden three doors down, he broke a flower pot. Then a gnome trying to salvage the flower pot, the other gnomes became agitated…
He went back to the first hallway door: Living room!
He picked a book off the wall and sat to read it for a few minutes, before he played the game of finding the kitchen.
It was a time like this that he remembered The Shadow. It was a simpler world, even if most of his life there had been bleeding over the whole time.
Still, a house that was always where you left it, and didn’t shy away from a key offered to it was a novel memory Dortan clung too, a peaceful life, where he could paint. Before he’d been given his instructions. Been sent to wander.