Puzzle Pieces

He had nearly completed the puzzle but already he had a sense of foreboding because there were too many gaps and not enough pieces left. He checked the carpet beneath him but it was clear, no pieces there. He checked under the table he was working on but again, nothing. Why had he not checked before he had started? Although how could he know? This was a one thousand piece jigsaw puzzle - was he really expected to sit there and count all one thousand pieces before he began? They should all be there but he had bought this jigsaw impulsively as he was browsing in a charity shop. The pieces had been sealed in a see-through plastic bag so he had assumed that the pieces had been unused or at the very least, checked and counted.

I should have guessed, he thought to himself, as a wave of despair washed over him, nothing ever works out for me. He knew it was only a puzzle, something he had used to pass the time in the lonely moments he often had here in this old decrepit house that had been left to him. Why am I here? he thought to himself for the ten-thousandth time as he stared out of the unwashed and murky window at the grey skies and drizzle falling onto the bleak scrubland that surrounded the house. His aunt had died and, surprisingly to him, she had left him this old falling-down house. He had been curious so he had driven up here, it was situated alone on a grassy but neglected scrubland. There were telegraph poles running down in a line past the house into the distance, where there was a main road, busy with cars zooming past. The main feeling, however, was of isolation. In fact, it didn't feel like a house at all, rather it would have been better suited as a cheap business motel or diner, perhaps. Of course, that would require a whole world of repairs and refurbishments because as it stood the house was a complete wreck; the stairs were creaking and dangerous with wooden slats shifting beneath your feet as you climbed them. The floors weren't much better, the rooms bare and dusty with cobwebs hanging from the corners. The kitchen had running water, at least, but that was about the full extent of the cooking facilities. Thankfully, there was power, the electricity pylons could almost be felt thrumming, so close were they to the house, so he had managed to hook up a fridge and he had filled it with snacks and beers which he had been living on for the past week

Better make another run for supplies, he realised, as he peered into the now near-empty fridge. He grabbed a cold beer and went to lounge on the sofa, which like the rest of the house, had seen better days

It was always windy up here, that was something he had noticed. Sure, the house was upon the top of a hill and exposed but still, he found it strange that the wind never seemed to stop blowing and with the various cracks and holes in the house's infrastructure he could hear and feel the air moving constantly around him. Time seemed to stand still up here, he knew he had been here for a week and all he had done was this - lounge on the sofa, creep around the house exploring the dusty old rooms or stand in the doorway and look down the long hill at the view of the telegraph poles, electricity pylons and the cars flowing along the motorway at the bottom. It was desolate, that was the word for it; empty and lifeless.

So he felt some trepidation when he registered there had been someone banging on the door for a little while. He had been lost in his thoughts and with the noise of the wind he had barely been able to hear it but he could distinguish it now - a steady and rhythmic one-two-one knocking. As he stood to get up, the knocking stopped and a figure passed in front of the window next to where he lay. He jumped in surprise, feeling vulnerable and decided to take matters into his own hands and headed for the door, opening it and calling out "Who are you?"

There was no answer. He walked around the perimeter of the house but could find no one. He walked back into the house, shivering a little. There had been someone there, he had seen them. Where had they gone? He felt torn about shutting the door or not. Had the man gotten inside? Did he mean to cause harm? He stood there for a few minutes, still and listening but nothing stood out to him and eventually, he walked in, closing the door behind him

It was dark outside and he had become very alert, sitting on a hardbacked chair with his back to the wall, facing the door. He had a solid lump of wood next to him in easy reach if he needed a weapon. No doubt about it, the mystery figure earlier had spooked him and now he was on edge. He had a bottle of beer in his other hand which he slowly sipped at. He supposed he could use that as a weapon too if it came to that. The puzzle was on the table, unfinished. Maybe he should do some more, take his mind off of his fear for a while? He couldn't sit like this all night. He shuffled the chair over to the table and started perusing the jigsaw, glancing up periodically to check no one was trying to get in through the front door. He had the old metallic blinds pulled down over the windows, which saved him the potential fright of seeing a face peering in, although it served to make him feel more enclosed. The wind was still blowing, but the rain had stopped and through a small hole in the roof he could see the night sky was dark and starry.

There was something odd about the puzzle which he hadn't noticed at first, what with him being distracted by his fear of an intruder but now he really took time to look at it he could have sworn there were now more pieces left. Earlier, it had been obvious that there were not enough pieces left to fill the gaps but now he wasn't so sure.. he counted them and there were eighty-nine pieces left. Now he tried to count the gaps as best he could, eighty-eight. So close! maybe one missing piece. How had he been so sure that there were pieces missing earlier?

Oh well, one piece missing, I can live with that, he thought, as he started placing the remaining pieces in their appropriate positions. He already knew what the completed picture was, of course. That was the reason he had bought it. The picture was of this very house in which he now sat. Why had someone designed a jigsaw of this house and what were the chances that he would then find that very jigsaw in a local charity shop? He supposed there could be a reasonable explanation, coincidence perhaps but really he knew there was no explanation except he was meant to have this jigsaw and he was meant to complete it in this house. God, the Devil, spirits or powers unseen, whatever it was, something had designed this to happen and he was following orders, no more than that.

There was a loud banging on the door and he jumped out of his chair, almost knocking the puzzle off the table. He grabbed the heavy lump of wood and downed the rest of the beer, rendering the glass bottle in his right hand easy to swing at any potential attacker. He gulped as he faced the door but he stepped to it and leaned in and twisted the doorknob, jerking open the door as he sprang backwards and took up his best fighting stance, ready to defend himself.

Again there was nothing there except wind and leaves blowing past. The noise of it was louder now, the wind had picked up from a steady breeze to what he would guess was a near-gale. He gently crept around the house but encountered nobody. As he completed a full circle back to the front door again he glanced down the hill towards the road and noticed something strange, a procession of lights - not car headlights but what looked like torchlights. There must have been about twenty of them and they seemed to be moving in two files up the hill, towards where he stood. He didn't like the look of them. He was reminded of the old vampire stories where the villagers would head up to the castle with burning lamps, looking to oust and destroy the creature therein. Why would they be heading here? he wondered. I'm certainly no blood-sucking creature of the night.. but still, he shut the door and hoped they would pass him. He glanced at the jigsaw puzzle but he was too scared now to sit down and attempt to finish it. Instead, he stood with his back against the door and waited.

Pretty soon, he could hear them. They were making noises outside of the house but no one knocked or seemed to want to approach any closer. After a while, he decided to move away from the door and lift the corner of one of the window blinds, just enough so he could sneak a peek outside at what was happening. There were many people around, all of them wearing thick coats with hoods and all carrying flaming torches. They were sitting on the grassy scrubland and staring in at him, not moving and not saying a word. He stumbled back from the window with a start. What did they want with him? He didn't dare go outside - there was something cold and unfeeling about the way they sat there unmoving as if they were waiting for events to happen. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he moved back away from the door. As he glanced at the puzzle on the table, his stomach lurched. There were far too many pieces left. He could see the gaps, there were two dozen at most yet he could easily count fifty, maybe even one hundred pieces left unplaced.

He grabbed another beer and drank a big gulp. His nerves were fried, he was shivering uncontrollably and he felt as if he was going to be sick. He looked back at the puzzle, he could clearly see the extra pieces that hadn't been there before - reds, yellows, oranges and he knew what they meant, even before he heard the first crackling noises and felt the heat growing around him

Nothing else for it, he wasn't going to burn to death in this house, so he ran to the door and yanked it open, brandishing his lump of wood and his glass bottle as he ran outside screaming bloody murder in an attempt to shock his would-be attackers and buy himself some time... but they had already gone. There was no sign of them or their torches. He looked back over his shoulder at the burning house behind him. He could see flames licking up the stairs. The house was a goner, not that it had been worth a lot before but there was no point in trying to salvage it now. His shoulders slumped but part of him was relieved. The house had been a time trap, hadn't he spent a week here, drinking beer and working on that puzzle and for what purpose? It already seemed like a weird dream that he was waking up from. He looked back one last time and started trudging down the hill towards where his car was parked. Time to go, he decided.

As he pulled his car out onto the main road and joined the now sparse traffic heading east, he looked up at where his short-lived new house had been. There was nothing there; an empty space, nothing more. He shook his head in disbelief, what was going on? That's when he noticed a brown package on the passenger seat, about a foot long and four inches deep. He gingerly unwrapped the brown covering, fearful of what might lie beneath. It was a picture of a house, a beautiful house, shining white with a tiled roof and flowers and ivy draping from the walls. There was a note on top with some keys dangling from it. It read:

"You might find this one more challenging"

That's when he realised it wasn't a picture of a house at all, it was a jigsaw puzzle - five thousand pieces this time with plenty of blue sky and white walls. The image was lovely but he knew that a vast expanse of blue sky meant many, many pieces almost exactly alike. He looked out of the window and there on top of the hill was a beautiful house directly illuminated in the first ray of dawn. There was a long winding tarmac drive up to the gates, passing through soft green meadows and, as he approached, the gates swung open as if they were automatic, although he could see no physical sign of any mechanism. He pulled up in front of the grand entrance and slid out of his seat, eager to try the key in the lock. It fitted perfectly, of course, and as the door opened to reveal elegant marble flooring leading to a wide and intricately carved winding staircase, he fell to his knees and cried. Tears for his new house, tears for himself and tears for that which he had left behind.