Thomas Cooke's As Midnight Strikes

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Thomas Cooke's As Midnight Strikes

"Your listening to 94.8 Fox Fm, and if you're out on the roads tonight

then take care because the weather report has…."

"Enough of that" Ana muttered as she leant forward to turn the channel

on the radio over. She sat upright, rubbing the back of her neck as

she eased her grip on the steering wheel. Traffic had been a nightmare

since they had started working on the M11 link road through Essex and

London. Finally she turned into her drive with a sigh of relief at not

having to spend another minute jammed in amongst anymore cars, not at

least until Monday morning anyway. As she unloaded her books and bags

from the car she could make out the silhouette of her mother, Liz as

she had always referred to her, running around in the hall

frantically. Ana was never quite sure why she had always called her

Liz but suspected it was something to do with her mother having her at

only 17 and never wanting to comes to terms with being a stereotypical

'Laura Ashley clad Mummy' .

"Liz, what's the matter?'' Ana asked with a smirk on her face, knowing

perfectly well that her mother was rushing off on some date as usual

on a Friday night when she returned from college each weekend. Ana

knew that Liz would no doubt be searching for an odd earring or lost

shoe.

"Oh hello, darling, have you got my other black shoe with you, you

know the Jimmy Choo ones, it's half eight and I am meant to have met

Mark at Chinawhites half an hour ago!" she panted as she continued to

run around in circles between air kissing Ana on each cheek.

"Sorry, can't say I have" she said without the slightest interest in

her voice what...

... middle of paper ...

...e heard something that brought more fear into her

than anything had ever done; the rustle of her bedroom door across the

wool carpet. She turned ever so slowly, which seemed to take an age,

around to find herself standing opposite a large, dark figure that

remained motionless. Ana shot backwards towards the top step and lost

any form of balance she had. Her arms reached out, grabbing in the air

in hope for something to cling to, but there was nothing. She screamed

into the darkness; it echoed into the shadows and around the house and

her body tumbled down the staircase.

She lay their motionless. Moonlight had found a crack in the curtain

and it shone a beam of light across her white, pale face. Her dead

eyes still wide open with fear as blood ran slowly across her

forehead.

The clock on the wall read 12.14am.

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