Alex Burrett
Who the hell opened the door to the room I was sleeping in when I was eight years-old?
I was downstairs alone. Our Welsh farmhouse was a mile from the nearest neighbour. The external doors and windows were locked. It was pitch black – but I could see this person clearly. They disappeared in the blink of an eye. After I'd been resettled upstairs on my sister's bedroom floor, our cat wandered downstairs, then hissed terrifyingly when it reached the room the figure had appeared in. The cat flew upstairs and jumped onto my sister's bed – the hair on the whole of its body standing up vertically as if it had been electrified.
I really should write a story about this...
Wait a minute, I have. It provided inspiration for my novel Outstared by a Bullfrog.
I was downstairs alone. Our Welsh farmhouse was a mile from the nearest neighbour. The external doors and windows were locked. It was pitch black – but I could see this person clearly. They disappeared in the blink of an eye. After I'd been resettled upstairs on my sister's bedroom floor, our cat wandered downstairs, then hissed terrifyingly when it reached the room the figure had appeared in. The cat flew upstairs and jumped onto my sister's bed – the hair on the whole of its body standing up vertically as if it had been electrified.
I really should write a story about this...
Wait a minute, I have. It provided inspiration for my novel Outstared by a Bullfrog.
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