This is lovely place to sit and contemplate my mortality. To the left of me is a building that was built 500 years ago and is supposedly the inspiration for Wuthering Heights by You Know Who.
Behind me is something making a weird noise and I’ve just realised I’m utterly alone here. Oh, another one making that same funny noise – like a screechy kind of rustling noise. And they’re both getting closer. I’m off. I’ll continue this later.
Okay, so it’s later now. The events in the previous paragraphs happened two weeks ago and since then I haven’t been followed home by strange, screechy creatures. They haven’t been tapping their claws on my windowpanes at midnight whilst whispering ‘let me iiiiin!’ in with their high-pitched voices. They haven’t snuck into my house through the keyhole and started to nest under my bed from which they don’t ever creep out at midnight and drag their furtive bodies up and down the carpet and sneak their clawed fingers under the cover to fondle my ankles speculatively as if they are wondering if there’s enough flesh on the bone to bother with. Nope, nothing like that’s happened at all.