Short Shockers: Collection One
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It was a pleasant-looking mock-Tudor semi, with a cherry tree in the front garden and a stone birdbath. There was nothing immediately evident about the property to suggest a reason for the terror Susan Miller felt every time she saw it.
‘Number 12’ — white letters on the oak door. A brass knocker. And, in the distance, the faint sound of the sea. She began to walk up the path, her speed increasing as she came closer, as if drawn by an invisible magnet. Her terror deepening, she reached forward and rang the bell.
‘Susan! Susan, darling! It’s OK. It’s OK!’
The dull rasp faded in her ears; her eyes sprang open. She gulped down air, staring out into the darkness of the bedroom. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘The dream. I had the dream.’
Tom settled back down with a grunt of disapproval and was asleep again in moments. Susan lay awake, listening to the steady, endless roar of the traffic on the M6 pouring past Birmingham, an icy fear flooding her veins.