Strange Visitor

It wasn't, he was sure, one of the familiar noises the house made as it shifted and settled on its foundations; there was somebody else out there. Turning quickly with his hands still wet Henry rushed out onto the landing, a cold chill bristled across his shoulders.

There was nobody there; that didn't make him feel any more comfortable.

From the landing he walked into his father's room. It was a museum untouched since the day he went into hospital, one with a  curator who deserved to be dismissed judging by the fine layer of dust covering every flat surface.

Out on the landing there was a stealthy scuffling noise, he couldn't identify what had made it; just knew that it shouldn't have been made at all.

Henry ran back out onto the landing, as he did do something flew up the stairs straight past his head. Instinctively he ducked, throwing his arms up as if to ward off a thrown object. Whatever he was trying to ward off changed direction and came back towards him, bringing with it a gust of air tainted with something musty and unclean.

The flying object passed around behind him and banged against the top edge of the open bedroom door. Turning around again Henry saw a small brown bird hovering against the ceiling, its wings moving so fast they were almost invisible.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)