In the not too far distance, a loud thunder crack woke Pheobe Green from slumber that had already been hard to come by. It took her a moment to adjust to her unusual sounds and realise just where she was - the old attic room.

The night wind howled around the old window frame, each strong gust encouraging the wood to creak and groan. Pheobe feared one almighty blast might just see the window go crashing from the wall.

Rain hammered on the roof above, a constant thud, thud, thud that grew louder as the rain fell heavier. A metal drip, drip, drip in the far left-hand corner suggested that the battered old roof was leaking onto the tin trunk she had used as storage.

Now wide awake, as she had been for three hours before finally dropping off to sleep, Pheobe sat up in bed to find herself staring into the half darkness. Shadows danced on the walls, each one jagged and uninviting. A blinding light flashed through the room chasing them away for a second, only for them to return as the light faded.

The thunder cracked again.

The floorboards creaked downstairs.

Mrs Appletree was clearly oblivious to the brewing storm outside, her snoring reaching Pheobe from the other end of the hallway. That left Sir Timothy. Scanning the room, she found him wide-awake, hiding beneath the oak desk, his large cat eyes shining wide with fear and trepidation. There was no one else in the house.

The floorboards creaked again.

"Don't be silly Phe," she whispered to herself. "This is an old house, it's bound to creak and go." But the reassurance did nothing to ease the troubled feeling that settled low in her gut.

The thunder cracked again.

So did the floorboards…

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