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The Visitor

Rolling onto her side, she reached for the pillow and pressed the cool fabric against her face. For a long time, she lay like this, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, longing for sleep, yet dreading it in case she remembered the night of the party and the missing hours.

Later, the sound of footsteps broke into another restless dream about prison. Soft, purposeful ones on the stairs – unlike Bill or Meg’s or the boys’. Footsteps treading up the old narrow staircase to the landing, stopping outside the study where she lay in the dark, unable to move or make a sound.

Help she tried to call.

The study door opened.

Help.

Footsteps slid across the carpet, towards the camp bed and the vague outline of a shape appeared in the dark. Someone was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at her.

‘Dawn,’ Evelyn whispered. ‘Get up and put your clothes on. I want to tell you what happened to your sister when the two of you were children.’

The elderly woman who’d helped her at Paddington was here in this room.

Evelyn touched her arm.

She screamed.

And then, again.



From an old draft of an novel I worked on about ten years ago. Genre: psychological thriller

Description of a night terror
Written by Lozzamus
Published
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