By Gavin Biddlecombe


“What’s she whining about now?”

“Leave her Paul. You know Tiny’s scared when there’s a storm.” Andrea rolled over pulling the duvet up around her. “Rescues tend to be a bit apprehensive. You’ve seen how she’s been in the past.”

“But she’s out of her bed this time.” Paul clambered out of bed and gave up on finding his slippers in the dark. “I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Facing the front door to their one bedroom apartment Tiny ignores the creaking floorboards as Paul ambles his way down the corridor towards her.

“What is it girl?” he asks, rubbing her back before approaching the peephole. “Still not used to storms are you?”

“What is it honey?” calls Andrea from the bedroom.

“Nothing I can see. The landlord needs to fix that light outside. It’s flickering again.”

A low grumble down in Tiny’s chest slowly develops into a deep, vicious growl, her hackles rising.

“There’s nothing out there,” suggests Paul looking down at her and trying to keep her calm. Tiny, barking wildly at the door forces him to take another look outside. Andrea stumbles down the corridor after them.

“What on earth is going on out here? We’re going to wake the neighbours at this rate. Are you okay Paul?… Paul? What are you looking at?”

“Did you order any ragged clown dolls?” cries Paul.

“No, why?”

“Then, I think the neighbours are the least of our concerns.”