A wall, are there. Like Black Cat by A. E. Poe. She was inside. (Dr Abbey)

I’ve always wondered about the way old houses fall down once no one is in them. As though it is the faith of the inhabitants holding the walls up. If no one believes that these stones are a house, then the walls also forget, and crumble.

It is normal to put something in the walls, to help a building stand tall. I don’t know why old shoes are popular – perhaps simply because they are easy to come by. Sometimes when old walls tumble, they reveal bones – cats or dogs most often. I like to think these were beloved pets who died of old age and were kept in the walls to be part of the home forever. Not bloody sacrifices slaughtered in barbaric rituals.

There are stories about someone who knew someone who found the bones of a child in the walls. Perhaps these are just stories, or mistakes made with dog bones, It would be fair to say that on this island, unwanted children are as easy to come by as worn out shoes. Easier perhaps, for you have to feed children, whereas worn out shoes can be repurposed in all kinds of ways.

I am not sure how a dead child would help secure the walls. However, who amongst us has not made sacrifices of one sort or another, hoping to appease the nameless, faceless forces that hold sway over our lives?

She was in the walls.

(Story concept and art by Dr Abbey, text by Nimue.)