Excerpt from ‘The Intruder’ by Margaret Ferguson of Larne Writers’ Group

There he was again, the same black figure, standing motionless by the side of the road. Even in the moonlight, his dark features were indistinguishable. He always seemed to be in the same place, at around the same time, when I drove past. But who was he? Why was he there? Was he waiting for a lift to work? Or a lover, perhaps? I had to know. For some reason, his presence was beginning to haunt me.

On the spur of the moment, I slowed down and pulled up alongside him. I leaned over, to turn off the irritating voice on the radio and, when I straightened up, I was staring into his pallid face pressed against the driver’s window. His eyes were cold and hard. Heart racing, I fumbled for the gears and, somehow, managed to pull myself together and drive off.

I watched him in the rear view mirror until he was lost in the swirling winter mists.

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I had been travelling along this road quite a lot lately, filling in for a colleague who was on maternity leave. I hadn’t had a sighting of the dark man for the past few nights and was beginning to think, maybe he had moved on: but, somehow, I wasn’t convinced. And then, one evening, without thinking, I pulled onto the side of the road and got out of the car. I looked up and down the deserted country road. An angry wind, already howling through the trees, seemed to be gathering in force. I shivered, and was just about to get back into my car, when I saw him, the dark man, standing by the side of the road, in front of a gate leading to

an old house. He stared in my direction and, as I watched, started to walk toward me, taking long, striding steps. A lorry thundered past and, when I looked again, he had vanished.

One evening, leaving work earlier in the afternoon, and compelled by who knows what, I pulled up again in front of the old house; my curiosity got the better of me, and always, inside my head, was that insistent voice, urging me to have a closer look. I peered through the thickening mist. At the far end of the grounds, surrounding the house was a driveway leading to a double garage and, some distance past this, stood a high iron gate.

Climbing out of the car, I walked over and pushed the gate open, its rusty hinges screeving through the silent winter air. Taking a quick look around, I walked slowly up the uneven path, my feet crunching into the cinders; on either side of the path, there were a variety of overgrown flowerbeds, choked with weeds and decayed leafs blown from the tall trees lining the spacious garden. I thought, what a pity the garden and flowerbeds had been so neglected, they must have been really lovely when they were in full bloom.I tried the heavy front door; it was locked. I walked past the grimy windows, covered by old black blinds, and around to the back of the house. Two outhouses sat, side by side, in a large concrete yard, littered with all kinds of rubbish.

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I picked my way gingerly over to the back door; it was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and entered a large kitchen, furnished with a stove, fridge and large working table; some unwashed dishes were piled in the sink. Someone must have left in a hurry, I imagined.

Opening a floor length cupboard, I discovered an assortment of shoes and Wellington boots: some of them, judging by their size, must have belonged to children; and hanging on wall hooks at the back of the cupboard were coats, some of them, again, obviously children’s.

Leaving the kitchen, I walked into a long, narrow hall; a child’s pram with a large pink-dressed doll was pushed against the wall, and two school bags and a few picture books lay together on the floor. I passed an old grandfather clock and entered what must have been the lounge; a man’s coat was lying over an armchair and a woman’s high-heeled shoe lay discarded on the floor, with a red silk scarf crumpled nearby.

Feeling like a trespasser, an intruder, I returned to the hall and climbed the stairs; a tattered teddy bear lay forlornly on one of the steps. I stood on the landing, looking around.

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The house must have been vacant for quite a while; it smelt dank, mouldy and unlived in; the air was freezing. I shivered and pulled my coat tighter around me.

Leading off the landing were four bedrooms. I pushed open the nearest door. A large, iron-posted bedstead was positioned in the middle of the spacious room, with bedside cabinets at either side; the floor was covered with a thick, patterned carpet. I lifted a framed photograph from one of the cabinets: it showed a young, fair-haired woman and two little girls, and beside them, a tall, dark-haired man. I looked closer, and remembered that pallid face pressed against the window: this man in the photo was the same man, the same, sinister man I had seen standing outside the house. This must be a family photograph, I thought, a

happy man pictured with his wife and young daughters. Perhaps, that’s why he was here: maybe he was clearing out the family’s belongings? But I still felt uneasy. I was overcome by a sudden feeling of foreboding. The very walls seemed to be closing in on me. I had to get out of here. Stumbling through the back door, I ran for dear life back to the front of the house. The sky was darkening. I pulled open the gate, slammed it shut behind me and raced to the car. Starting the engine, I turned around and took a backward glance at the house. I froze. The dark-haired man was watching me from an upstairs window.

I looked at him for a long moment, almost hypnotised. As I drove off, I could feel his eyes boring into me - penetrating my very soul.

Look out for Part 2 of The Intruder, coming soon…