The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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Samantha had inherited the chair from her Great Grandmother. Family members who
never visited during Carries lifetime, all congregated like Vultures around her corpse,
wrestling over antique coins and jewellery.
Nobody wanted the battered antique, though. Samantha had rejuvenated the chair
with a simple wash of varnish. It still retained the damage to the right side of the head.
Her Grandmothers anarchic Parrot, “Captain”, had gnawed away at it. She sat in the
chair slowly rocking as she started to read “The Summer book” by Tove Janson, one of
her favourite authors. The light flickered and she looked at the shade. There was a hole
just adjacent to where the light wire hung. She’d forgotten about this hole to the loft.
Her Dad was not exactly the most thorough of D.I.Y enthusiasts. The house was full
of tokens of his handiwork. If you turned the stair light on the kitchen lights went off.
Samantha switched on the radio and listened to the classical channel, she cocooned
herself into the book. The hourly radio news update came on, more unrest in the
Middle East, another sex scandal, and then an excerpt gripped her attention. A sex
offender had escaped earlier in the day from Wheat hill Prison.
Locals are instructed to remain vigilant. Whilst there is nothing to fear, for the offender is believed
to have stowed away on a HGV truck at the motorway. An accident earlier brought the motorway to a
standstill. It is believed that this gave the escapee the opportunity to enter one of the vehicles. Inspections
are currently underway. Any suspicious individuals sited or activity must be reported immediately.
Local authorities believe an assailant may have assisted in the convicts escape.
Samantha switched the radio off and went downstairs to make a milky drink. She
double checked the burglar alarm was set and the doors and windows were all locked.
She took a handful of chew sticks out of a cupboard and led Sheba upstairs.
The dog took her customary position underneath the bed, her head just outside of
the frame. Samantha arranged a barricade of pillows, put her drink on the window ledge
next to her bed and nestled into the covers, continuing to read her book.
She dropped her arm down to the side of the bed and gave Sheba’s head a stroke.
Sheba gave a contented whine. The house was exceptionally hot now so she dived out
of the bed, popped the thermostat off and hung her silk gown up in the wardrobe.
Samantha slipped into the depths of sleep and began to dream.
She was sitting in her rocking chair, it rocked haphazardly. A sign above her head
read in neon lights, “The gateway to the land of clowns.” A scratching sound grew to
a loud crescendo, tearing at her very ear lobes. The bedroom light switched on and off
rapidly. She looked at the lampshade and looked at the small hole in the ceiling adjacent
to it. A piercing blue bloodshot eye stared down at her from the dark loft. She heard
an unhuman voice whisper, “Wicked thoughts set their mark on the face especially the
eyes.”
Samantha awoke and was soaked in sweat. She felt damp on her pillow, drooling in
her sleep, a family flaw. Not one of her most attractive features. She dropped her hand
down to the side of the bed and stroked Sheba’s head. The dog sensing her upset licked