Echo

CHAPTER 1 | THE NEW GHOST

Theodore knew he had not made a mistake coming here. The rolling countryside was conciliatory in its silence, the only sound that of the old red fiat coughing along and the grass whispering their secrets no one would ever translate. The courageous little car had scared all the clouds away and left the landscape blue and green.

Eventually more features dotted the sparse fields; giant trees that dropped leaves and sticks that wedged their way under the windscreen wipers, and as time drew on a little town emerged over the hillside, a beacon of life amongst the calm isolation. Its orange tiled roofs were greeted and passed by his eyes, the colours shifting in the window's reflection. Pumpkin stalls lined the market the car drove through, crowds of people dawdling out of the way as the taxi driver beeped the tinny horn.

Autunno he had called it, pointing at the trees as they rusted and parted with their leaves in the strong breeze, covering the grey cobblestone with rivers of fire. Here there was no snow and the sun still shone brightly, an eternal summer with a chilling breeze.

Theodore was glad when he parted with his talkative driver, handing him too much money and only realising the error in his exchange rate calculation once he had darted off. It seemed the people here could be as honest as the people he'd left in London. The relief he was finally granted as he stretched his legs, however, was enough to remind him to count his blessings. He might've been down a dozen euro but he was up on mobility since exiting the cramped little vehicle.

While he walked up the driveway he had to shield his eyes as the sun descended. As it sunk below the trees it set the leaves on fire, the whole forest ablaze with dying light. The house itself lay nestled just a few feet into the forest, with a view from the porch of the rolling Italian countryside, the orange roofs peeking out from the top of the distant hill, and from the back windows nothing could be seen but a dense collection of trees, melting into the darkness of a never-ending wood. A dichotomy Theodore could choose between each day, depending on the mood.

"Come on," he waved, the soles of his shoes twisting in the gravel, crunching under his heel. Ein trotted along at a relaxed pace, her tongue flying this way and that as she turned her head right and left, taking in the new exciting place. His corgi had never looked so small compared to the overgrown grass that framed the pathway leading up to the house, but despite her size she had the courage of a wolf, sprinting ahead to assess her new home. He allowed her to go as far as she wanted, a treat for being so well behaved during the long journey.

The cottage appeared as it was shown in the photos: overgrown with weeds and flowers, the brick cracking from the pressure in places. It was quaint, but that was all Theodore needed. It was a steal: leagues cheaper than any holiday home he could have bought in the English countryside.

The short stairs creaked under Theodore's weight, and when he tried to open the door the key got stuck and he had to shimmy it back out after it clicked unlocked. Ein ran in as soon as the door was wide enough for her to fit, her first target the couch, which she could manage to hop onto since it was low enough for her stubby legs.

Theodore went about checking that everything was in order: the electricity worked, though the lights would flicker every now and then. The hot water was barely lukewarm, but it would do. The tiny television opposite the tiny couch received a strong signal and there seemed to be no infestations of spiders, rats or otherwise, so it appeared their new home would suffice. They were only here for a couple of weeks, but Theodore wished to fix the place up and rent it out when he wasn't here. His business major friends at university had told him passive income was the key to maintaining wealth, though he didn't have much wealth to maintain in the first place.