Looking for Walter Newhouse Chapter Six
I had to get the train into Stourbridge to visit Ullman. Sat in a carriage opposite an obese lady who immediately fell asleep and snored for the entire journey. She had an internal alarm clock or something because she woke up the moment the train trundled into Stourbridge station, gathered her bags together and was out of the carriage door before the thing had even stopped moving.
I’d never been to Stourbridge before, but I could see it was a shit hole from the start. The platform looked like a waste ground, with weeds sprouting from between cracks in the tarmac. Towards the outer ends of the platform, it was like a jungle. I had my ticket punched by a guard who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.
‘How do I get to Worcester Street?’ I said.
He looked at me dead eyed and licked his thin lips. ‘Take a left, keep walking.’
I left the station and took a left, just as the old man had advised me to. Pretty soon, I was walking up a hill to a crossroads and a set of traffic lights. I crossed on over and down the hill on the other side. Eventually I got to a traffic island. Two roads to choose from. After a good look around, I spotted Worcester Street doubling back on myself. I headed down, keeping my eyes peeled for number twenty-six.
The house was set back from the road, up a steep incline. Behind the house, the hill continued to rise. From where I was standing, I couldn’t make out if there was any garden behind the house, or if it was actually built into the hill.
The steps leading up to the front door twisted and turned on themselves. I opened the gate down at pavement level and began climbing those steps. There seemed to be an awful lot of them, twisting and turning up the side of the hill.
I finally made it to the front door. Lifting my arm to knock on the door took more effort than it should have done. I hoped Ullman wasn’t the scrapping type. If I got into a fight now, I would be about as dangerous as a rice pudding in a paper bag.
The door opened to reveal a woman in her twenties. She had long, jet black hair, dark eyes and white skin, and she was rail thin. I was tempted to turn right around and go buy her a pack of vitamins and a ham sandwich.
She looked at me. Arched an eyebrow.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m here to see Mr Ullman,’ I said.
Ever so slowly, she looked me up and down, running her eyes over me as though I were naked. I could practically feel my skin tingling beneath my clothes.
‘If you’re busy…’ I said.
‘No, I’m not busy, not at all.’
As she spoke, I noticed her lips were black, and I mean jet black, like her hair. And her teeth, it was hard to tell because I couldn’t get a good view of them, but I’m convinced her teeth were all filed down to a point.
