DEAD of the Night

Pam stayed with Lindsay all day, cooked for her, talked to her, and eventually shared a bottle of wine with her.

“I have to go now love, I need to go to work tomorrow. Will you be alright?”
“Yes, there’s a phone by my bed and I can call you, Steve, or even the local cops if I need to, although I don’t know why I’d need to call anyone. This cheap plonk you brought should knock me out anyway.” Lindsay replied.

“Cheap plonk? This bottle cost five quid. I’ll let myself out, lock the door after me and then you go to bed.” Pam stopped in the doorway and looked around at her friend. She looked sad and pathetic. “Maybe I should get my things and stay the night.”
“No, go home, I’ll be alright on my own. Look Pam, I’m not going to get over this for a long time, you can’t move in with me. I’m a big girl.”
Lindsay watched Pam walk down the path and cross the road before she closed the curtains. Alone at last she collapsed on the floor and cried. She cried until there were no tears left.

“Why spare me God, why me? I’m happy to be alive, but my life will never be the same again. All of my friends are dead. How could you let this happen?”

Lindsay thought about switching on the TV, but decided against it, she’d suffered enough bad news for one day. A car door slammed outside. Peeping carefully through the curtains, she half expected to see the mysterious white car, but instead saw a van with the name of one of the local news stations painted on the side. Great, that’s all I need, bloody reporters. Lindsay closed the curtains again, and put out the lights, hoping they wouldn’t bother her. She heard people talking in hushed voices and saw several flashes. Wonderful, now they’re taking photographs. Pretty soon I’ll have the world and his wife watching my house. I just want to be left alone.

She’d only been in bed for a few minutes when she heard the van pull away. Lindsay was almost asleep when she heard a floorboard creek in the corner of her room. Had the reporters found a way to get in. She sat up in bed. “Hello? Who’s there. I’ll call the police right now if you don’t get out.”

Mel emerged from the shadows, a cold dead eye dangling from her charred face. Lindsay screamed and ran for the door. Her way was blocked by the guy Mel was draped over on the dance floor. He grinned at her, cracking the dry black skin on his face. Lindsay passed out.


If you’re enjoying my short story, you may enjoy my first novel Dead of July, which is available on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson




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