Jack lay, eyes wide in the dark. The sound of his shallow breathing seeming to resonate inside his own head. This was not an unusual ritual for Jack, since moving to the new house, that dark, old house which seemed to creak and groan as though it was alive. A slumbering beast , watching, waiting, perhaps in order to lull its prey into a false since of security before springing it deadly trap. Jack knew this, his parents didn’t, perhaps too blinded by the security of forgetting childish follies and conforming with that cold, logical world inhabited by adults. And so they had left him, 12 year old Jack Turner, to sleep alone in that seemed to him a house of unspeakable horror. He hated them for that, although he knew it was only for a short time, he knew as 11 o clock approached he would hear that familiar sound of gravel under a car’s tires, occasionally followed by the sounds of laughter as his parents bring their night of merriment home and to a conclusion, he knew that then and only then, he would be safe again, he could turn on his side and slip into a deep fulfilling sleep. He also knew that this was nearly 2 hours away, he would not, could not know what would happen to him in this time.
‘Perhaps the house will awake this time and swallow me up into its century old foundations’ he thought, feeling a wave of terror causing goosebumps to creep up his arms, ‘what if it just wakes up, opens its jaws, and eats me up?’ he repeats to himself and quickly tries to push this into that dark place at the back of his mind. This doesn't work and he suddenly feels the need for the comfort brought only by his bedside lamp, he reaches over and pushes the switch, nothing, he tries again, nothing, ‘noooooo!’ Jack whimpers.
