Murfey's Law

Chapter Two

The air smelt warm as Lori stood on the side of the road where the taxi had just dropped her off. The tarmac warmed the soles of her bare feet, and a giant raindrop plopped onto her face. It offered little relief from the clammy evening air. An almost full moon flickered on and off like a faulty light globe as big heavy black clouds blew across the sky. The only noise came from a distant roll of thunder and the rustle of the leaves in the trees as the wind twisted and tangled around her. She had absolutely no idea what time it was, her senses were arguing back and forth between breakfast and bedtime.

As she stood in front of it, the house looked a little odd, not the normal kind of residence she would have expected for a beach house. A large old glass fronted notice board hung on the wall to the left of the front door, a stack of newspapers sat in a wire rack and a blackboard swung back and forth advertising 'Ice Creams Sold Here'.

She was fairly certain the address had said number twenty-three. Each and every word of the short and shocking letter was literally burnt into her memory, but perhaps she had made a mistake? Relying on her memory alone when making wildly rash and intoxicated decisions in the middle of the night probably wasn't likely to yield perfect results. Still, she didn't for a second regret unceremoniously burning the letter, it had been incredibly cathartic, and in doing so, guaranteed she couldn't spend night after night dissecting her father's every word.

Leaving her case in the road Lori walked tentatively along the tarmac. To her right the next house displayed its numbers in swirly words, Twenty One. Padding back past her case to the left of the house was a narrow walkway leading off into the dark. Further left still the next house had a bizarre metal man letterbox with the number twenty-five hammered into his chest.

Well, Lori reasoned with herself, maybe she'd remembered the street name incorrectly, or worse still, completely the wrong village. Judging by her recent run of bad luck it was entirely possible that she was wrong on all counts. Either way, this couldn't be her father's house. The more Lori stared at it the more certain she became, this place was definitely a shop.

From her roadside vantage there didn't appear to be much movement inside, however, the lights were on so hopefully it was still open. Murfey's Beach hadn't seemed that big a settlement from the back seat of the taxi, surely the village shopkeeper would know everyone in the local area, and could help her find where she was meant to go.

'Hello?" Lori called out as she pushed open the spring loaded front screen door.

She was spot on, just inside and to her right was an old wooden counter, its shelves were filled with prehistoric looking sweets. On top of it sat a cash register. There was very little room between this and a newspaper rack, reaching from floor to ceiling, on her left. The place smelt as old as it looked. Lori dragged her case through the doorway and past the counter beside which a rusty old freezer whirred and clunked. Peering through its glass top she saw ice creams and lollies sharing space with what looked suspiciously like fish bait. Beyond the freezer the shop opened out to a large, almost empty, space. A few wooden shelves and a couple of upright refrigerators half filled with essential groceries were pushed up against the walls.

There was a scratching noise coming from behind a door located between the shelves of tinned fruit and sanitary products.

"Hello? Anybody home?" Lori tried again.

This time the scratching stopped and someone responded, "Lorikeet is that you?"

"Umm, yes," Lori replied hesitantly. She was a little taken aback; her father must have spoken about her to the shopkeeper. Until the bombshell letter had arrived she had presumed he'd completely forgotten she even existed, let alone admitted it to anyone else. Still, at least this confirmed that she was in the right village.