Creative and Memoir Writing

Simon scuffed his wellies off on the stones leading up to the old cottage and ducked his head before stepping through the open door into thick darkness. Ready to pull his ID card from his pocket, he called out, “Inspector Hay here, looking for Mrs. Featherbody. Anybody home?” Once inside, he saw what was left of the pull chain to a ceiling lamp, and he pulled the short chain carefully, glancing around the room full of what could have been his grandmother’s furniture, at least what he could see of it.