Stranger in The Night

By Toni Fowell All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Mystery

Chapter One

Stranger in the Night


Stood in the doorway, I felt uneasy, something was wrong.

Sat in the shabby, musty, armchair at the far side of the room, silhouetted by the dim glow of the streetlamp outside the open window, was a man. A stranger. He appeared to be clad all in black.

Trembling, I stepped slowly into the living room, wiping my clammy hands on my trousers, my heart thumped loudly with fear.

Petrified, I shuffled against the wall and away from the safety of the doorway.

With a sudden movement that startled me, causing me to stumble, the figure leapt out of the chair and charged towards me, and as he did, a sudden gust of wind caught the door and slammed it shut. The sound echoed through the house.

I tried to cry out, but my throat had closed.

I tried to run, but I was paralysed.

As the large black figure loomed over me, I saw that he had a green, almost black mask covering the right half of his face, his eyes glowing red, like pools of fire.

His arms were outstretched towards me, his clawed hands reaching for my neck. I close my eyes.

As I shrunk back against the wall, I heard my mother shout as she struggled to open the door.

‘Are you in there? What’s going on? Is everything ok?’

I opened my eyes; the strange figure had disappeared. It’s like he was never there.

‘What the hell had just happened?’ I wondered as I opened the door.

My mother stood there in the doorway, her face a pasty white, her eyes wide in shock as I pull the door open.

‘The door must have gotten stuck,’ I offered as a weak explanation.

‘What happened love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ She asked, a slight falter in her tone.

‘To be honest mother, I really have no idea what happened. I think I’m losing my mind.’

Looking behind me as I stepped out into the hallway, I frowned. ‘Did I imagine the whole thing?’ I tried to rationalise the incident. ‘Maybe I’d had a little too much to drink. Maybe the death of my father had affected me more than I cared to realise’.

My father and I had never been overly close, he had been a waste of space in my opinion, so when he died, I felt somewhat relieved you could say.

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