Monday or Tuesday

A Haunted House, A Society, Monday or Tuesday, An Unwritten Novel, The String Quartet, Blue & Green, Kew Gardens, The Mark on the Wall. Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure-a ghostly couple."Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here too!" "Its upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them."But it wasnt that you woke us. Oh, no. "Theyre looking for it; theyre drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now theyve found it," one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.