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One Night — Malla Duncan
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Published:
Nov-2012 -
Formats:
eBook -
Main Genre:
Thriller -
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What frightens you? Really? Casey Blaydon is about to find out. Still smarting from the breakup with her boyfriend, she finds herself alone and looking after a friend's dog for one night. But Barton cottage is lonely and nothing has prepared Casey for the events that are about to converge on her doorstep - events which unleash a terrifying mystery that follows her home like a shadow. One Night is a full-length, high tension contemporary murder mystery suspense thriller.
“The loudest sound was my breathing, it outplayed the crunch of my feet on the gravel. It was like driving on a dark road with only the short space ahead of you lit up by the headlights. Beyond that was a disorientating void of dark matter; the ground could sway to vertical and I would still be running. The lonely dark made its own terror. Should I have rather faced the intruder in the warm light of the cottage? Out here, I was an isolated speck in the black night, vulnerable and traceable as a firefly.
I pulled into the bank of trees to the side of the road and switched off the torch. There was a dank silence. The smell of damp soil and autumnal leaves was overlaid by the sharp tang of resin. In daylight this would have been a green wood, patched by the skylight shafts of sunlight. Now it exuded a deathly hush. Trees were defined in crooked black lines in navy depths, branches stretched in spidery ambush; all the mystery of the woods after dark: the legends of Sleepy Hollow, the werewolf and the vampire.”
“The loudest sound was my breathing, it outplayed the crunch of my feet on the gravel. It was like driving on a dark road with only the short space ahead of you lit up by the headlights. Beyond that was a disorientating void of dark matter; the ground could sway to vertical and I would still be running. The lonely dark made its own terror. Should I have rather faced the intruder in the warm light of the cottage? Out here, I was an isolated speck in the black night, vulnerable and traceable as a firefly.
I pulled into the bank of trees to the side of the road and switched off the torch. There was a dank silence. The smell of damp soil and autumnal leaves was overlaid by the sharp tang of resin. In daylight this would have been a green wood, patched by the skylight shafts of sunlight. Now it exuded a deathly hush. Trees were defined in crooked black lines in navy depths, branches stretched in spidery ambush; all the mystery of the woods after dark: the legends of Sleepy Hollow, the werewolf and the vampire.”
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