Wild Island
“She could not be mistaken. This was no ghost, no projection of the haunted imagination. Someone was coming up the stairs, someone who would shortly reach the head of the stairs, turn towards her bedroom, softly deliberately Jemima Shore felt quite literally paralysed with fright. She could not even stretch out one hand. At the same time she heard rather than felt, or so it seemed at the time, her heart thumping in time to the muffled steps. It would have been prudent to have leapt out of the hu...ge blanketed bed, maybe even to lock the door - if there was a lock. Perhaps she should turn out the little bedside light in order to gain a certain advantage over her assailant. These thoughts went through her head while she continued to sit bolt upright in bed, frozen, the thin paper pages of A Scottish Tragedy still clenched between her rigid fingers.
No, she definitely could not move. All she could think was that she was alone in an empty house, with no help at all at hand, alone on a wild island, and just as she thought, This is ridiculous, I'll get the police, I'll dial 999, she remembered that there was no telephone.MoreLess
No, she definitely could not move. All she could think was that she was alone in an empty house, with no help at all at hand, alone on a wild island, and just as she thought, This is ridiculous, I'll get the police, I'll dial 999, she remembered that there was no telephone.MoreLess
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