By Stewart Bint

Copyright 2014 Stewart Bint

Smashwords Edition

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For Sarah Jane Cook and Aimee Anne Swift.

Wishing you well in your married

life together

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

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Cover Design: Socius, Leicestershire, UK

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Table of Contents

I burst in through the lounge door and flopped into my favourite chair, flinging my jacket across the settee.

“Hi, Sarah,” I called above the noise of the television. My sister lay on her stomach on the floor, her bare legs waving in the air as one of The Tomorrow People got himself out of another tricky situation.

“Hi, Simon. How’d it go today?”

“Okay. I think I did well enough. That last minute revision on the 1974 coal strike paid off. It actually came up.”

Sarah pulled a face. “Spare me the details, please. And remind me not to take modern history. By the way, what time are you going out tonight?”

“I don’t think I am. I reckon I’ve earned a rest. Goodbye ‘A’ Levels. Hello relaxation.”

“You’re not going to be cluttering the house up are you? With Mum and Dad out tonight I was hoping Steve could come round.”

“Steve…?”

“I met him at the disco last weekend. I did tell you about him.”

The old protective instinct in me took over. “Well, I’m definitely not going out now. I’m not leaving you alone in the house with any Steve.”

Sarah shot me her well-rehearsed exasperated look. “Simon, I am 14. And anyway, we won’t be alone. Helen’ll be in.”

“Sorry, but I’m staying in front of the telly. I want to catch up on a few videos I haven’t had time to watch.”

“I thought you said you’d be going out to celebrate once your ‘A’ levels were over?”

“And so I am, just not tonight, clever clogs.” I hurled a cushion at her which she warded off expertly.

“Well shut up then and let me watch this,” she said. The Tomorrow People had always been one of her favourites.

Lying back in the chair I felt as if all the cares in the world had suddenly been lifted from my shoulders, and I remembered how excited my older sister, Helen, had been when she got home after her last ‘A’ level a couple of years ago.

Freedom at last!

I can’t recall the exact time it started; after all, why should I? But dusk was just beginning to make its presence felt and we were thinking of drawing the curtains. Sarah had taken Steve upstairs about quarter of an hour earlier to practice a new dance routine, meaning my schlock-horror video had to compete with the dull thudding of Take That from her bedroom stereo.

It might have been a flicker of a cloud scurrying in front of the sun’s dying embers which sent the sudden dark shadow past the window. I blinked and sat bolt upright. Helen turned towards me with a quizzical look. Her corn-blonde hair fell loosely about her shoulders.

“Did you see that?” she asked.

I nodded slowly. “I half-saw someone go by the window.”

She swallowed nervously. No doubt she was remembering the spate of burglaries in the village during the last couple of months.

The movement had almost convinced me that someone was in the garden. Trying to appear nonchalant, I got up and peered out into the fading light. There was no sign of anyone now and an intruder would have had to scale an eight-foot wall, or break down the door between the garage and house.

But I didn’t want to take any chances. As I made my way into the dining room Helen moved across to the lounge window. Pulling open the patio doors, I stepped outside, suddenly feeling queasy and wishing I’d brought Titus. He was in the kitchen, though, and if I went back for him now any intruder would have plenty of time to get away.

Everywhere I looked there were half shadows and shafts of almost ethereal light through the trees and bushes.

“Who’s there?” I called, not really expecting an answer – and definitely not hoping for one. When none came I knew I had been misled by the strange half-light of the dusk. I shivered for no apparent reason other than someone walking over my grave and thought it was getting rather chilly for what had been an overpoweringly hot day.

Stepping back inside, I drew the doors shut and turned the key, double checking they were locked.

“No-one there,” I said, jauntily, going back to the lounge and settling down again in front of the television.

The video was full of typical schlock-horror garbage of machete-wielding maniacs chasing innocent girls through the woods. And why were the girls always barefoot with their hands tied behind their backs? Still, the storyline was better than most and the excitement continued to mount.

In fact it was so exciting that Helen dozed off. Thank goodness she did. Or she would probably have seen the face at the window before it vanished as quickly as it came.

I leapt up, stifling a yell, but the face had already melted away into the thickening gloom.

Had I really seen it or not? It had been too indistinct to make out any features; more a shape than anything. But the shape of a figure nevertheless.

Without waking Helen I went put through the dining room patio doors again, but, just as before, I could see no-one. This time I painstakingly searched the far reaches of the garden for more than five minutes – every nook and cranny, behind every tree and bush. By the time I was satisfied that I was definitely alone, the half-light had turned into early night, but the rising moon kept full darkness at bay.

On the way back in I paused at the door, just a step away from the threshold of safety, to take last lingering look around. Nothing. But I had seen something out there, hadn’t I? What about Helen? She’d seen something, too, hadn’t she?

The next day Dad looked puzzled when I told him what had happened.

“That’s odd,” he said. “I thought I saw something a couple of times last week when you were upstairs revising. But each time I went out to have a look there was nothing there. What was it you saw, exactly?”

“Not really sure how to describe it…just a sort of fleeting movement that I only glimpsed out of the corner of my eye.”

“Yeah, that’s it…that’s all I saw. Just a flicker almost, and then it was gone. Perhaps it’s just that time of year, something to do with the sun setting behind the trees.”

He’d been talking of getting tighter security for the last few weeks, especially after our neighbours were burgled and I tried to look beyond his smiling eyes to see if he were merely trying to reassure me. But there was no hint that he did not firmly believe what he was saying.

That evening I set out for my schoolfriend’s house. I’d arranged to meet him at seven o’clock and we were going on to meet more friends at a club in town. It was a fabulous night, if a little hazy when it came to remembering exactly what we’d got up to.

We went back to my friend’s house for a few final beers and it was around four in the morning when I found myself slipping my key in the lock at home. I crept in, turning to face the door as I gently pushed it shut.

At that moment something brushed my shoulder. Had my throat not instantly locked with fear I reckon the yell of fright which wanted to explode from my body would have awoken the entire house. As it was, the only sound was my heart pounding, pumping vast quantities of adrenalin through my bloodstream. Summoning all the courage I could, I slowly turned.

“Helen! What did you want to scare me like that for?”

“Sorry,” she hissed urgently. “But I had to see you before you went to bed.”

The distraught look on her face told me something was wrong. Very wrong. Her independent nature usually over-rode what she normally referred to as irrational fears.

“What is it? “Do Mum and Dad know you’re still up?”

“No. I went upstairs early and lay awake listening for them going to bed. I hoped they’d be asleep before you came in.”

Suddenly it was all gushing out. “Simon. It came again tonight. It wasn’t the sun, I know it wasn’t. The whole window darkened for a split second but when I turned to look there was no-one there.”

“Did Mum and Dad see it?”

Slowly Helen nodded. “Dad did. He had a good look all around the garden but there was no sign of anyone then.”

I feared nothing I could do or say would be able to ease the torment she was clearly going through. “Just like the other time. I wonder if we’re not imagining it.” I was aware the effects of more vodka and beer that night than I cared to even try and remember were having in slurring my voice and blunting my thought process. “After all, we haven’t actually…..”

“I know what I saw.” Her interruption was sharp and scathing. “And I thought you did, too.”

“I saw a moment outside the window, that’s all. It could have been anything.”

The daggers in her look said it all. And a voice inside me was a nagging reminder that I was really as worried as she. What about that face at the window? It said. That was more than a fleeting movement.

“No burglar in his right mind’s going to break in while everyone’s in the house,” I said, trying hard to shut out the fear. “It’s very common to see flickers of light or shadow as the sun’s going down.”

The inner voice persisted. But the face. There was a face at the window. You know there was. You saw it. Okay, so I know it was a face. But talking about it wasn’t going to make Helen feel any better. In fact it would only make things worse.

And the liquid contents of my stomach felt as if they were on the verge of making a desperate bid for freedom.

“I suppose you’re right,” said Helen, pulling herself up straight as if a ramrod back would ward off any intruder. “But at the time it was so real, and I felt so peculiar – so horribly alone.”

Her words cut no ice with me. I knew that deep down there was no belief in what she was saying. Just as if she were trying to reassure me with the same lie I was using to convince her. And the strange thing was that ‘horribly alone’ was exactly how I had felt. It was the first time my feelings had been put into words but her description defined it perfectly. ‘Horribly alone’ – yes, that was it to a tee, even though Helen had been with me at the time.

“Do you want me to take a look around?” I asked, attempting to make the situation seem as normal as possible. Even though all I wanted to do was get my head inside the toilet bowl.

“It was hours ago,” she replied, her face pleading with me to go, no matter what she said. “Whoever it was will be long gone.”

“If it’ll make you feel better…?”

She bit her bottom lip. “I suppose you might see some sign of where he got over the wall. But do be careful.”

I nodded. I wanted to take Titus but he would be asleep.

Walking into the dining room I picked up the decorative poker which lay in the fireplace and gently pulling back the curtain, I drew the patio door aside.

The warm night air seemed almost alive as I listened intently. But nothing stirred. Peering into the darkness, my vision was aided by the stars which helped penetrate to the far reaches of the garden.

All was quiet. All was still. The leaves hung silent in the trees. It was a cloying, claustrophobic night, no breath of air or wind anywhere. The warmth snuggled up to me, yet still I shivered. Nerves, I told myself angrily. Just nerves. There’s no-one out here. Except me.

I took three steps beyond the door…then four, five, six. I turned to look back at Helen, silhouetted in the brilliant light flooding through the open doorway. But it seemed more than ordinary light surrounding her. There appeared to be a bluish tint to her outline radiating fiercely into the darkness.

A bush alongside me rustled and moved. Suppressing my natural instinct to yell – yells seemed to be building inside me that night with nowhere to go – I whirled round just in time to see a black shape dart out from under it, streak across the grass and disappear into the undergrowth.

“Bloody cats,” I hissed. But I had to smile.

When I turned to look at Helen a couple of seconds later, the blue aura had gone, leaving her framed in a more ordinary light. This was just before my stomach growled, erupting a volcano of beer, vodka and curry into the bush.

When the lava well ran dry and there was nothing left for the painful retching to expel, Helen had gone inside.

Seeing Sarah and Helen wander downstairs and out into the garden in their bikinis reminded me that I ought to start getting used to the sun before going on holiday.

I spent the afternoon lying on the lawn with the girls reading a book. Or trying to read it. My thoughts refused to stay with the printed word, turning instead to the events of the last couple of nights. My mind’s eye wanted to picture what the shape or movement had been like, but it proved an impossible task because there hadn’t really been anything tangible to see. Then I spent a fruitless few minutes staring at the spot where I thought I’d seen it. And feeling angry with myself for doing so.

It was just the spate of burglaries getting under my skin, I told myself, making me jumpy and reading something into the situation that wasn’t really there. Mum hadn’t seen anything, neither had Sarah.

In that bright June sunshine it all seemed so far away and impossible, so why did I get the feeling that once the sun went down it would be back? I kept telling myself there was nothing to come back. But why wouldn’t I listen?

One single movement for a fleeting half second was all it had been both times. So why on Earth was I getting so worked up about it? ‘The burglaries,’ said the voice. ‘That’s why.’

The fact that Helen had seen it, too, and more importantly perhaps, had seemed so troubled by it, was another reason I needed to take it seriously. But how could I take something seriously when I couldn’t even see it?

A warm summer’s breeze began to stir the leaves.

Mum and Dad went for a long walk with Titus, and that evening the three of them seemed worn out. Normally Titus wasn’t allowed in the lounge but somehow he crept in while we were having dinner and when we went through from the dining room at about 7.30 p.m. there he was, curled up in front of the hearth fast asleep. No-one had the heart to wake him. Mum and Dad were tired, even Sarah was drowsy. But as I caught Helen’s glance I knew I wouldn’t be dropping asleep in the lounge. And I doubted she would, either.

‘But it’s all so unreasonable,’ I thought. ‘It’s only a shadow so why do I feel uncomfortable about it?’

I tried to concentrate on the film but all the time my eyes were drawn, as if by some unseen magnet, to the window. A couple of times I dragged them away glancing at the television before looking across at Helen. Her eyes, too, seemed directed to the window.

Even before it got dark I’d had enough and was starting to imagine all sorts of things. As soon as the sun began to lose its power and kiss the treetops I leaped up and hurried over to the window.

Helen fixed me with a wide-eyed stare as I swiftly drew the curtains. Rubbing my hands, I strolled back to the chair.

“Cosier this way,” I explained, settling down to the film again.

Titus often waved his tail in his sleep. Perhaps when dreaming of chasing cats or rabbits. But this time it was accompanied by a low growling for a couple of seconds. Then suddenly he was wide awake, jerking his head off the rug and glancing at us one by one as if making sure were all still there. He got up stiffly, his tail firmly between his legs.

“What’s up, old boy?” I held my hand out to him. “Did you have a bad dream – got beaten up by a cat?”

Without moving, he stared intently at the window. Immediately I felt my hackles rise and a shiver ran along my spine.

“Oh God,” muttered Helen under her breath.

In one bound Titus was at the window, barking fit to wake the dead and pawing like crazy at the curtains. Flinging myself across the room I pulled them back. And for a split second saw a dark movement outside. The next moment Titus turned and ran to the door. He flopped down heavily, alternately panting and whining in a high-pitched tone.

The shape or movement, whatever it was, had gone. All was now still out there. Had I seen it or not? I looked at Titus. He was staring at me as I stood by the window. But was it me he was looking at? It struck me that perhaps his gaze went beyond me and out to the garden. To something wandering amongst the trees.

Throughout all that, Helen had sat completely still. But now the spell was broken – tears rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks and she was shaking violently.

“It was there again. I saw it,” she sobbed. “Just for a split second, but I did see it.” Mum was over to her in a flash, comforting her. Sarah just lay on the floor not saying a word. She didn’t need to. The look in her eyes was enough to tell me she had seen it, too.

My dash to the window had yanked everyone out of their own private reverie, so when the curtain was swept aside they must have all seen what I saw.

Mum turned from Helen’s chair, to look at Dad. “There was someone out there, Bob,” she said, firmly. “I saw them.”

So it wasn’t my imagination!

Dad was pale, definitely not like him. Nodding thoughtfully, he mused: “Yes, I saw it, too.”

In some ways it was a relief to know I wasn’t going crazy. But this made it real and therefore deadly serious. Someone was outside. And had been before. A strained silence rang throughout the room, broken only when Titus ran to the window barking furiously.

“Come on, boy,” I cried instinctively, heading for the dining room. Out of the patio doors we went, Titus flying like the wind across the lawn with me in as close pursuit as my two human legs would allow. The gods lent speed to my heels and I quickly arrived at his side as he stood clawing angrily at the foot of the wall.

Then suddenly, footsteps behind me. I whirled round. Dad with a torch, which he aimed on the soil at the base of the wall.

“No-one here,” I said.

“And no footprints either. Surely there’d be something here if anyone had got over the wall.” Dad shone the light all about us, peering closely at the trees and bushes. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

“I’m going to ring the police,” he said. “It’s time they knew about this.”

Slowly we returned towards the welcoming glow of the patio doors, but Titus was reluctant to come, running furiously around the lawn barking.

“Come on, Titus,” I called from the door. “There’s no-one there now.” He inched his way towards the house, tail still between his legs. Then he stopped a couple of yards away. A dangerous growl seeped through his bared teeth.

“Titus, what is it?”

His eyes were fixed on the door and he crouched as if ready to pounce. I took a couple of steps towards him but the increased growling warned me it would be better to stay away. He seemed to be staring past me into the dining room.

“I’ve been over every inch of your garden, Mr Reynolds,” the policeman said, switching his torch off as he stood framed in the open doorway. “There’s no sign of any intruder and no indication that anyone’s been over the wall. I think you’re all clear.”

Dad looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. But with all these burglaries in the village…”

“No trouble at all, Sir. Better to be safe than sorry. And if you see anyone else please let us know straight away. We’re anxious to follow every lead we can get at the moment.”

“Thank you very much, Constable. We’re grateful you came, anyway.”

“Pleasure, Sir. And if it’ll put your mind at rest we’ll keep an eye on the house for the next couple of days. You never know, we might just spot something.”

The next day I was alone in the house. Dad at work, Helen at her office where she was training to be an estate agent, Sarah at school and Mum visiting friends. I spent the morning lazing about my room listening to CDs and in the afternoon I wrote a few sheets to a girl-friend who lived up North. I say girl-friend…she comes to stay occasionally but there’s nothing in it really. Two summers ago she spent a couple of weeks on a farm just outside the village where I had a job in the school holidays. We hit it off straight away and now write to each other once a month.

I felt somewhat ashamed because I hadn’t answered her last letter earlier, but, as I now explained in my current note, I had been studying hard for my ‘A’ levels.

Sarah was at the age when she fell madly in love with every good-looking boy she came across and there was a constant stream of callers for her. Neither Dad nor I could keep track of her boyfriends; no sooner did we get used to one and be able to remember his name than he was out on his ear and there was another smiling face at the door. And the funny thing is, Mum and Helen never seemed to notice the difference. All Mum would say when she went to the door was: “Come in, Dear. She won’t be a minute.” And Helen had her nose too far into her own love life to be worried about little sister.

The police kept watch on the house all day. I noticed the blue Escort parked across the road when I nipped to the chippy for lunch. Two men were sitting in it, one reading a paper, the other doing a crossword. And for a moment I felt a little guilty that we may be wasting police time.

We’d discussed that very point after the constable left the previous night. The feeling that someone was prowling about the garden had left almost as quickly as it came. The thoughts and doubts lingered, certainly, but the actual prickly feeling that an intruder was present had simply disappeared.

Sarah went out that evening with Steve while Mum and Dad went to an Environmental Health Officers’ Summer Dinner-dance, leaving Helen and me in the house alone.

I was determined that if the prowler came again I would see him properly this time. Television was its usual boring summer self so it was no real hardship to sit staring at the window. But after an hour or so I began to imagine all sorts of movements in the trees as darkness pulled its cloak slowly over the light and warmth of day. It shrouded the house like a veil, seeming deeper and closer than usual.

The television droned on in the background and my eyelids started to droop. Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs which were tightening in on my mind, I continued my vigil, not daring to look away from that one spot in the window in case I missed the second or two I needed to prove that someone was out there. But perhaps they wouldn’t come tonight, with the police in the road.

Darkness descended swiftly once dusk took a foothold and I knew in my soul that whoever was watching us was simply biding his time.

Risking a quick sideways look towards Helen I saw that she, too, had fixed her stare on the window. She seemed to sense my glance because she cast a reassuring smile in my direction.

Suddenly a single bark rang out from the kitchen where Titus had been stretched out on the floor. Helen jerked her head towards the window, and involuntarily I looked across at her. It was at that precise moment she screamed.

Instead of looking back at the window as I should have done, my gaze remained locked on her: her hands were up to her face, covering her mouth, gripping both sides of her nose: eyes wide, a look of pure terror as if she were witnessing the ultimate horror.

It’s strange the things that pass through your mind at a time of crisis. I can remember time standing still while obscenities circled my vocal chords waiting for me to give them life. I’d done what it …whatever IT was…had wanted. Somehow it had made me look away and appeared as soon as I was distracted.

Knowing it was too late, I turned to the window nevertheless, a shiver still tingling my spine. But was it too late? Again it was just a half glimpse of a dark shadow which seemed to kill the moonlight, but I was definitely aware of something, just for a split second looking in, waiting to devour us with its evil.

At least that’s what it felt like – it was the feeling rather than the sight that was so terrifying and loathsome, the feeling of intense horror, deep, penetrating and intense, which engulfed me so suddenly. It seemed an eternity before I shook it off sufficiently to regain control of my senses.

Titus was barking furiously and we could hear him frantically scratching at the door.

The darkness at the window disappeared as swiftly as it had come and the next second I was heading for the door. I ran through the dining room towards the kitchen where Titus was still in his frenzy.

For an instant the door refused to yield to my pushing, conjuring up all sorts of visions – it was in the kitchen, waiting. It had come inside to get us.

I was now more determined than ever to see this thing, whatever it was; burglar, shadow, menace, and I battered the door with all my strength. A squeal of pain and muffled thumping gave me a quick sense of satisfaction as the door met with resistance, connecting with whoever was in there.

As I burst inside my hand snaked out for the light switch giving life to the overhead fluorescent strip. Realisation dawned immediately, partly because of the silence and partly because of the sight. I had slammed the door into poor Titus who must have been leaping up at it. Sad brown eyes looked out from the tangled mass of head, legs and hair as he rolled over and scrambled up.

“Oh…sorry, Titus. Sorry old boy.” He whined and ran to lick my outstretched hand. That was Titus to a tee. You did something to hurt him and he felt he should be the one apologising. At least that’s what we always took his sloppy licks to mean.

Suddenly he snatched his head away and turned to face the door leading out into the garden. I saw a wave shudder along the hair on his back and a low growling was born in the pit of his stomach.

“What is it?” I was asking myself as much as the dog. His answer was to shoot away from me, skidding to a halt at the garden door, staring up at it, his growling becoming more urgent and insistent.

As soon as he saw me reach for the handle he started pawing at the door in his haste to get out there. It was hardly open more than a crack before his nose poked through and with a deft twist of his head he sent it flying from my grasp.

Following him out into the moonlight I caught sight of him disappearing round the side of the house towards the back garden, his barking getting more frantic all the time. Eerie light washed off the stretch of lawn giving rise to the illusion of a rippling lake; a lake of grass flanked by Elms and Sycamores with a copse at the end.

On rounding the corner of the house I finally saw it. Titus was chasing a running figure which was partly blending in with the moonlit shadows of the trees.

Although it seemed to be running I couldn’t actually see its legs moving. It was more the speed that told me it must be sprinting. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness I saw the figure stop and turn to face Titus, who by then was only a couple of metres behind it. All I could make out was a black shape which began advancing slowly, threateningly, menacingly, towards my dog. Titus drew himself up as if he had hit an invisible wall and a howl of horror wrenched from his body. Turning tail, he hurtled back towards me across the lawn. His pursuer came rapidly out of the shadows but was too far away for me to discern any features. It was still nothing more than a vague black shape.

Almost at once I sensed it saw me because it glided to a halt. There we stood, forty metres of lawn between us like two duelling cowboys at high noon. A faint moaning came from its direction, then without warning it rose about ten feet into the air and started to grow, both in height and width. It moved slowly through the darkness, expanding constantly like some huge, obscene balloon until I felt sure it meant to engulf me. I stood frozen to the spot, my feet feeling as if they had taken root, my eyes locked on the shadow.

‘I’m not seeing this,’ I told myself. ‘I can’t be seeing this. It isn’t happening.’

The spell holding me paralysed was suddenly broken by a piercing scream from the house. Spinning to face the lounge window, I saw Helen’s terror-stricken face framed in the glass staring out into the night. There was a faint rustling above me and when I turned back to where the shadow had hovered there was no sign of it.

Sweat poured down my forehead as I ran back to the house, slamming the door behind me. Titus was under the table whining. And he had been sick on the floor.

Helen rushed through into the kitchen and fell into my arms sobbing. “What was it?” she cried.

I clasped her to me as tightly as I could. “It was nothing,” I lied. “Only a shadow. That’s all.”

She pushed me away angrily. “That was no shadow. You know it wasn’t. You saw it. It was a…a…a…” Her words refused to come. Like me, she could find no reasonable explanation for what we had just seen. The expression she had used previously – “horribly alone” – sprang to mind again. My senses as well as my eyes told me this thing was not of this world. No mortal could instil the sense of horror which the faceless dark shadow – that growing thing – had done. The only evidence we had was that of our own eyes and our own feelings. I began to wonder whether we would have to rely on feelings and intuition more than anything else in our future dealings with this unwelcome visitor.

Whatever it was.