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The night was dark and the fog lay misty Essay

The night was dark and the fog lay, strewn carelessly across the front lawn, the classic atmosphere for a horror story. The sky was clear and the night as still as it was silent. The muted television flickered away in the cosy, comfortable front room of Master Yorke. He turned the television off and sat with his feet up on the plush, blood red leather suite. He sipped his tea as the seconds ticked by on the grandfather clock in the hall. He glanced at his watch. It was time for bed. So he left his tea mug in the sink, full of dirty dishes, put on his slippers and climbed the stairs.

He reached his room, which had become cooler at night in the winter months. At the moment, the climate was in a nasty middle stage, not cold enough to snow but not warm enough to dry up quickly after rain. He flicked the light switch, only to realise that the bulb had blown. Anxious to change and get to bed, he fumbled on the floor for the slit part of the carpet. He peeled it up and opened a secret door, no bigger than an A4 sheet of paper and inside, no deeper than a bathroom sink. Within the compartment he opened a drawer and produced a light bulb.

On screwing in this light bulb, a bright white light spread to all parts of the room, even under his bed, where he used to hide the jars of jam and packets of biscuits until his mum had left the room again, her having noticed them missing from the larder. He was always the first choice to be searched. It wasn’t fair.

He changed into suitable sleeping attire and pulled back the quilt. Just then something caught his eye, near the floor, beside his radio alarm clock, which flashed nought-nought-one-three.

What had caught his eye was that the door to his walk-in wardrobe was slowly closing. Sinclair was unknowing of how this was happening and so decided to investigate. As he approached, the movement stopped and the room was deadly still. Even the begonia on the shelf in the corner seemed to stop growing. He listened for a while and as he could hear nothing, he peered into the wardrobe.

As it was walk-in, it was unsurprisingly fitted with a lighting system. He flicked the switch and this time the bulb hadn’t blown. At first all he could see was his robes and his suits on the left and his casuals and eveningwear on the right. But on looking closer he spotted something he hadn’t set eyes on before. It was a new garment. It was emerald green and shimmered like water. It was neither a suit nor leisurewear. It was a one-piece garment, not unlike those worn in films about Robin Hood. It had a brown leather belt around the middle, fastened with a big, square-shaped, silver buckle. The garment ended around ankle length.

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