The house is silent. A gentle breeze rustles the trees. Moonlight shines through the hallway window. The cream phone receiver is hanging from the wire on the wall. The rapid click click clicking of the telephone line is bleeping to the empty staircase.
A creak of a tread on the second step from the landing echoes. The bathroom door slams shut with a bang. A whisper of a voice passes across the landing, a hint of cigarette smoke perfumes the air.
From the living room there is a warmth growing in the fireplace. The heat gradually stirs into life, increasing in intensity. Beyond the ashened space a horrific and terrifying scream replays somewhere in the darkness. Then the scream is repeated but this time joined by another, lower in pitch. They cease abruptly. Silence returns for a while. The heat is beginning to recede when the two screams can be picked out once more in the distance. Now there are three. One high,one low, one riding through the middle.
Grandfather's chair slides out from behind the table. Lavender and pipe tobacco waft over the dining room. The broken window latch squeaks and contorts, releasing the window to open. As it swings out onto the garden, a brief reflection is caught of a form sitting in the chair. Auburn hair and green eyes. Sarah Laker is watching and waiting. She is home to stay.
YOU ARE READING
Sarah Laker
ParanormalSarah Laker's memory is alive. Alive with the dead. Experiences of strange phenomena are the norm within 28-year-old Sarah's farmhouse. Armed with borrowed equipment, she sets out to prove the place is haunted. A haunting is easier to accept than t...
