Manor Farm’s very own Mr Jones was drunk. Again. He’d locked the hen-houses. But the pop-holes? Left open. Light danced across the yard, following his movements. He kicked off his boots. One last beer. Just one more glass. Mr Jones stumbled up to bed.
Home Free
Running. Heavy breathing. The girl wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She knew. Knew what was coming. What was behind. All she wanted was to make it home, back to her bedroom, away from the outside world. Home Free. Free from the monsters. Free from terror. She’d make it. Make it home. The girl hoped for safety, but behind her, safety seemed non-existent. Footsteps rang out in the dark. Thudding. Stomping. Chasing. It was all in her hands now, she was the only one able to save herself.
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