Sarah Laker

8 - Neil Laker

The rain continued through the day. Driving home, Sarah ran on autopilot down the familiar roads and back along the bumpy lane which led to her house. The windscreen wipers squeaked annoyingly and added a surreal accompaniment to the song on the radio. Shania Twain had never sounded better.

Turning through the last twist of the route between the trees, the farmhouse loomed out of the dark. The bare window of the bedroom watched Sarah's return.

All she wanted was a bath. The guys had hogged the bathroom at Duncan's and she'd felt so embarrassed about her antics the night before, that she'd left as quickly as possible. Now that hot soak would be the only thing to remove her headache and her shame.

Once settled into the warm bubbles, she dipped her hair backwards into the water and closed her eyes. Heaven. The bath enclosed her in a steamy embrace of rose petal perfume. She breathed slowly and languished until the water started turning tepid. Rain tapping at the window became a mantra to her moment of meditation.

A door slammed downstairs.

"Damn it." Sarah raised her torso out of the bath, wiping vapour from her face and reprimanded herself. " If you've left that bloody back door open again, you prat..."

She dressed briskly and took a brush with her as she trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen. A deep, grey cloud lingered over the counters near the cooker. She could smell something burning.

"Shit!"

Rushing over to the cooker, Sarah yanked open the oven door, expecting a gush of smoke to pour out.

Nothing.

As strongly as the stench of burning that her nose had picked up had been - it was now gone. The smoke over the work tops had disappeared. She shut the oven and sniffed at the clear air, looking around the long room.

Duncan's camera rested on the table. A flash of lightning glared across the skyline, showing up angrily behind the treetops outside the kitchen window as they stood sentinel against the storm.

Sarah moved to take the camera. On her second step the red record light flicked on at the top of the machine. She froze. Something was behind her. She could feel the energy - electric and brooding like the storm, solid. This is it! By a fantastic stroke of luck, the video camera would be able to capture whatever it was that was happening. This was great.

Moving only her eyes, Sarah attempted to catch a reflection in the dark kitchen window of whatever was between her back and the utility room door.

Thunder burst through the silence and she jumped on the spot. The atmosphere in the room transformed immediately. The heavy presence had passed, the hairs no longer stood to attention on her skin.

She darted over to the table and snatched up the camera, willing it to have served its purpose. The recording window was on pause. Yes!
Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the stop and rewind buttons until the film ceased to reel back, ready to be played. Staring intently at the screen, Sarah held her breath while she pressed play.

Nothing.

There was the kitchen. A slight blur of dark movement that any shifting shadow could have made, and then nothing until a flash of brightness lit up the units, floor and hallway. Then again nothing. The motionless, low frequency hum of the recording was eventually broken by the muffled boom of the thunder that had made her jump.

There was nothing else on the film.

For a few minutes it didn't register with Sarah's anxious brain. That was just it. The camera had recorded nothing. Not even her! Another fact scratched in her mind, it had turned itself on to do so.