A Chill Night

by David Wing

Confusion gave way to despair, despair to fear and fear to abject horror.

The wizened floorboards ached and moaned as something descended.

She’d fallen asleep on the living-room sofa but now sat bolt upright and begged in silence for the fear to flee, as she so clearly should have.

The smell became visual as it swirled in and out of the bannister legs.

She shivered as the cold reached her shoulders and clamped her eyes closed as the footsteps halted before the fireplace and grandfather called time behind her.

This winter night, oft so joyous and now so utterly dreadful.

About Russ Thompson

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