Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Inside the cosy, little house it was almost bedtime. Sam sat on the sofa, snuggled next to his mum and his little sister, Elsie. In the warm glow of the lamp they were finishing their bedtime story.
Outside the rain was pouring down.
“Right. Time for bed,” said mum, closing up the book.
She turned to look at her children and saw that Elsie had toothpaste generously smeared all over her chin and cheeks.
“Oh! Look at the state of your chops!” mum said.
She turned to Sam. “Please can you go down to the bathroom cupboard and get a washer to wipe your sister’s face?”
Sam nodded, wriggled off the sofa and padded across the living room floor.
He had only walked five steps when suddenly an enormous lightning-flash filled the room and a booming rumble of thunder rattled the windows, reverberating right through Sam’s bones.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks for a moment, his eyeballs wide with shock, as his brain tried to process what was happening. And then he ran back to the sofa, diving into his mum’s arms, yelping in fear.
“Don’t worry,” said Mum, “It’s only a storm – we’re all safe in here.”
Sam nuzzled closer into Mum’s armpit, whimpering, and she wrapped her arm around him and squeezed him in tightly.
“Come on Sam, you’re all OK,” said mum after a minute, “Now be brave and go and get that washer.”
Sam looked pained and scared. “But Mum! I can’t go into the bathroom when there’s a storm like this. Sometimes I think there’s a witch hiding in the bathroom cupboard.”
Mum pulled him in close, and stroked his hair, smiling kindly. “Of course there’s not a witch in the cupboard….you’ll be fine….now come on….we need to stop your sister from looking like she’s been dipped in a tub of yoghurt.”
Sam giggled and, summoning all of his courage, he slid off the sofa and slowly started walking towards the corridor that led to the bathroom.
As he padded down the corridor a distant rumble of thunder echoed through the house and the lights flickered. Sam jumped…pausing in his tracks for a moment. And then slowly, tentatively he kept moving forwards.
In front of him he could now see the bathroom doorway and beyond it the dimly lit bathroom cupboard. He gulped.
Ever since the day that his Dad had casually told him that there was a portal to another world hidden at the back of the bathroom cupboard, Sam had worried about what might come out of it.
He had often imagined that there might be wolves in there, or witches, or creatures with pincers and long, feathery legs. But all he’d ever seen in the cupboard was a pile of washers, countless bottles of mysterious lady-potions and some aged and slightly mouldy dental floss.
Sam walked on, slowly, tentatively – his eyes transfixed on the cupboard door handle – focused on his target – all he needed to do was get that washer.
He could hear his own heart beating and the sound of the rain pounding on the tin roof. One slow step at a time he moved closer to his target. “There is no witch,” he told himself, “There is no witch.”
He was close to the cupboard door now and he reached out his right hand – two more steps and he would be touching the handle and opening the cupboard.
A sudden lightning flash illuminated the bathroom and in that bright burst of light Sam thought he saw the cupboard door wobble ever so slightly.
He hesitated. His eyes widened – riveted on the cupboard. Perhaps he had just imagined it. His heart was beating fast now. “There is no witch. There is no witch.”
His fingers reached out and touched the door handle.
At that very moment he felt the door wobble and he gaped in horror-filled disbelief as a gnarled, bony, green hand crept out from around the edge of the cupboard door.
As Sam stood there, frozen in terror, he saw those wretched, warty fingers feeling their way around the cupboard door, searching for something. Or someone.
With a massive crack of thunder, the lights went out and everything went dark.
The last thing Sam heard was his own high pitched screams and the cackling screech of witch-laughter, echoing into the darkness of the night.
THE END.