I’ve been out of action recently due to complications following a dental extraction, but have managed to do about two or three hours of writing each day.

The following comes from my novel in progress, a psychological thriller aimed at Young Adults.  In this part of the story, the secondary viewpoint character struggles to cope after returning to her home town after ten years:

Something like crunching footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she looked round. Nothing, apart from the empty field with a line of nettles by the fence and barbed wiring. She climbed a stile and moved on towards the private driveway leading to Lyme Hall. The weather was muggy again, just like yesterday and the day before when she’d arrived. Tears stung her eyes, blinding her vision, and she stumbled, nearly tripping on uneven grounding as she struggled to contain her hiccuping sobs.

Evil, evil, evil Hall. It had robbed her, destroyed her life.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder. Once again, she’d heard movement in the grass.

Footsteps. A snapping branch.

But the field was empty, the grass limp from rain.


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