It was a dark dreary Sunday afternoon.
Fiona had her head buried in an old, thick leather-bound bible.
Her grandmother's wooden knobbed radio from the '80s buzzed melancholic jazz music in the background.
This was Fiona's favourite type of weather.
Her long, blonde hair fluttered about her shoulders as she crouched closer into herself on the loveseat, holding her warm fluffy blanket tightly around her body.
The wind had begun blowing some hours earlier, but it had gotten stronger and stronger as the hour passed.
Finally, she mustered enough self-confidence to get up and shut all the windows and doors in the house.
Grabbing her blanket, she hunkered down back into her position on the sofa, tying her hair into a messy bun above her head and resumed her vicious study of the bible.
The music faltered slightly and stopped very suddenly. Although very old, the radio had never stopped this way.
Her head darted in the direction of the radio, confused.
She got up and walked towards the radio, turning the knobs left, right and back again.
She then heard a very loud screeching from the radio.
She froze on the spot, her feet rooted firmly to the ground.
The door squeaked open quietly behind her.
But she wouldn't dare look back because she knew she had bolted the door barely 20 seconds ago.
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