thunder crossing

two. the forty winks.

Devon, his heart having not recovered from his last fright, simply keeled over on the spot. He woke to warmth, and for a moment thought he was simply lying in his old room at his mother's house, until an unfamiliar, wrinkled face came to the edges of his vision. He sat up, and pain shot through his head.

"Slow down a bit there dearie, you took quite a nasty fall."

"Who are you?" Devon asked rather rudely, realising his mistake he hastily added a 'madam'.

The old lady seemed unperturbed. "I'm Mrs Prewett, and welcome to Thunder Crossing. Sorry if I gave you a bit of a fright then, it's just been so long since we had visitors and I got a bit excited."

"Don't worry about it. I'm Devon Knott, I'm the reporter doing the story here?"

"Nice to meet you Devon. Now, since it's a little bit late for most of Thunder Crossing to be awake, I thought you could get settled in for some sleep right away, and you can begin your investigation tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good to me," Devon breathed a sigh of relief.

"If you'll follow me this way..." Mrs Prewett heaved herself out of her chair and began climbing up a set of narrow steps. The stairwell was lit with nothing but a single, stumped candle drowning in wax, the candle holder stuck lopsidedly into the wall. She pushed open a door that squeaked loudly on its hinges on the second landing. It opened to a plain, modest bedroom, but it was decorated in a way that made it seem homelier and more comforting, especially in contrast with the raging tempest outside; forks of lightning could be glimpsed through the small window.

An electric fireplace bathed the room in warm, flickering light, but there was also a regular lightbulb screwed into the ceiling, and a lamp on the bedside table. The wrought iron bedstead was a double, and had a faded yet clean quilt covering. Devon dragged his suitcase across the floorboards, which squeaked and groaned under his weight. There was a threadbare armchair next to the fireplace as well as a small wooden desk shoved into a corner. A dresser pressed up against the wall completed the cramped space.

"I'll let you get settled in, you're probably quite tired from your long journey, so I'll leave you in peace. The bathroom is to your left. Can I get you some tea? Coffee?" Mrs Prewett fussed slightly over him.

"I'm good, thank you for your help. I'll see you in the morning Mrs Prewett."

"Get yourself a good night's sleep dear. Enjoy your stay in Thunder Crossing!" The last part was called up the stairs to Devon, and it echoed for a few seconds across the landing before he shut the door, admittedly more violently than was necessary. He took a few calming breaths, then marched across the room towards his suitcase, which he opened to extract his pyjamas. Within seconds, his exhausted body was huddled underneath the covers and he was fast asleep.

◘

Devon jolted awake, heart thumping wildly as the pain from the shock of whatever had woken him spread through his chest. He lay stock still in his bed, but his eyes were open, and his ears were searching for new sounds. The house groaned and creaked beneath him; unfamiliar sounds filled his ears. The drip, drip of the tap from the bathroom. The groan of the eaves as the storm battered the house. The creak of a floorboard just outside his room.

Devon stiffened. With the same, slow, spine chilling squeal, the door juddered open. His back was facing the entrance, just his luck, so he could do nothing but stare at the whitewashed wall illuminated by the sliver of moon outside the square window. He waited with baited breath for whatever was about to happen. And waited. And waited. He felt his eyelids begin to droop but forced them open again, determined to stay awake. Finally, he worked up the courage to slowly begin to turn towards the door. Millimetre by millimetre. Minute by minute.