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My Writing Kiln Potteries Prize Entery 2018

He Comes

I can hear him downstairs rummaging, searching. It was only a matter of time before he came after me, and now he’s here, going through the house.

I had time to hide, to get into this dark, small, space. The door to the loft is hidden on the inside of my built-in-wardrobe. The smell of the mothballs mixes with the musty air held within. I dare not use my torch for comfort, for fear the light will give me away, so I sit here as he searches, not daring to move, my eyes, tightly shut.

He calls up the stairs, telling me he is coming, taunting; why does he taunt? 

A stair creaks, with it I know he is near the top. My heart is beating against my ribs, thumping so hard I think he will surely hear it, my back presses more against the corner of the walls in a desperate attempt to get further away. He doesn’t know about this place, he can’t know about it, how could he know? 

I’m safe here, as long as I remain silent.

My heart races, the squeak of the door handle now a shrill as its turned; he’s here! I can hear him moving around the room, his footsteps getting louder as he gets closer. The wardrobe door quickly opens, my breathing stops as he scrapes the rails moving the clothing across, my eyes scrunch painfully closed. 

Boo! I found you, your turn to count… “One…Two…Three…Four…”

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/writing

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