The Dead Guy.


Within a week of finishing my first aid course I was eating my dinner when there was a frantic knocking at the door.  Actually, it was a thumping fist on my door, accompanied by a high pitched indecipherable yelling.  I opened the door to find an old lady with very poor English skills reaching in and tugging at the sleeve of my shirt, beckoning us to follow. She said, “My son! You help my son! Please… come!”

Hubby and I followed her across the road, down a short driveway, through a tall, white, arch-shaped, wooden gate and into the back yard of a house.  Part of me was nervous as I had no idea what we were going to find – and part of me was very curious because I’d hardly glimpsed the man who lived in this house, which was locked up with curtains drawn most of the time.

Stepping in through the gate the woman pointed…

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