He was sitting up in bed alone in the house. The bedroom was solely lit by his flickering TV at the end of the iron bed. His room was cold making him huddle up in the duvet to keep warm. Cold rain clattered on the curtainless window a few centimetres from his head. A huge lightening flash cut out his TV. As his room was laid dark he peered through the wooden framed window. In the far distance, the small village was discernible by an eerie glow. His eyelids grew heavy.
The next thing he knew his eyes were open. On the roof was a huge, black shadow so large it covered the whitewashed ceiling. He sat bolt upright, looking all around the room. Nothing. Not even the shadow remained on the ceiling, had he dreamt it? Again he felt sleepy; his eyes glanced over to the window where he caught sight of something. He looked and caught a glimpse of a face, old and withered like oak with features hardly discernible under a sack cloth hood. A blink and it was gone. Drawing himself up to the window, he looked down. There was no sign of any way the ancient man could have climbed so high.
His eyes were failing him. His watch glowed showing it was 2 a.m. as accurate as he cared to know. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He was beginning to get to sleep when he heard a voice. "Natalie," though whispered the name was as clear as day. He got up and looked around. He didn't hear another sound as he searched the room. His courage leapt and he tentatively cried, "is there anyone out there?"
He looked to his watch, it read 1 a.m.
Then he tried once more to go back to sleep. As he did so the TV burst into life startling him.