Having worshipped at God's feet for the best part of twenty-five years, Father Hendrie should know better - nightmares are only a fabrication of an over-active imagination. But the dreams which haunt him are terrifyingly vivid and all are somehow li...
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For once, it was not the nightmares that woke Bill Hendrie, although, just as every other night, they'd been running rampant through his brain.
His eyes sprang open as the wallpaper burst into view when a blast of bright light flooded the room, accompanied by God's timpani - thunder. It took the priest a good few moments to gather his thoughts and accept his slumber had been disturbed by a storm.
Another flash of lightning washed the room, making Bill squint against the flare. As the room returned to darkness, he slid his legs out of bed and sat, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress, debating whether to get up or not. Instinctively, he glanced at the clock - 3.33 am. It was the same time as every other night. He groaned.
There was certainly no point trying to sleep during such a tempest, but he half-dreaded going down to the kitchen, for he knew where he'd end up - the attic. He'd have no recollection of getting there, just the sense of creeping doom and his increasing morbidity.
A sound reached his ears. Holding his breath, he listened intently. At the same time, he was berating himself - it's most likely the storm. He also wondered if he was indeed losing his mind.
There it was again, the noise! It came from down the hall. He was not being irrational after all; someone was in his house!
The realisation gave rise to a feeling of panic balling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't put on the light that would provide the intruder with his location. To stumble about in the dark was not a particularly clever idea either.
As yet another flash of lightning lit up the walls, he quickly scanned the room, instinctually looking for something to defend himself. He noted the pair of bronze bookends, sphinxes he bought from a charity shop in town. They were not ideal, but they were all he had. He crept over to the set of drawers and lifted one of the bookends. It held a decent weight but allowed no error if he needed to use it.
Armed and ready, he nervously reached for the handle. From just beyond the wooden panelled door, he heard like shuffling, something dragging across the laminate not far from where he stood, trembling.
Alarm went into overdrive when he thought he heard someone shouting his name. His eyes fastened on the window. Rivulets ran down the glass, creating a waterfall distorting the view. The rain was buffeted by the rising wind, spreading it in all directions across the panes.
"Bill!"
Bill's breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat quickened - he did hear his name, even amid the storm. With fingers still curled tight around the bookend, he padded over and looked out the window. Lightning illuminated the garden in a harsh, bright flare. Through the torrent, he could see Lisa standing, looking up, trying to keep the hood of her jacket in place.
The noise from the hallway grew unnervingly closer. Bill gasped. An intruder was right outside his bedroom door, and Lisa was outside calling his name. There was no way Bill could leave her out in this weather, but nor could he risk the intruder hearing her either. What should he do?
