The storm

The storm raged through the house, the wind howling and thunder rattling the windows. Amid the pitch blackness, I clung to my favourite corner, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

A strange smell ruffled my skin: sour, metallic, damp wood. A creaking sound, like wood giving way under a weight, made me tense up. Then I saw my mother step into the gloom, torch in hand.

I tried to warn her, but my desperate barking failed to get her attention. Behind the pantry door, a dark shadow loomed, a pair of eyes glowing with the glare of lightning. My instincts screamed danger, and I ran to block my mother's path, but she shoved me away.

The creak of wood grew louder and, with a bang, the pantry door swung wide open. My shriek of panic echoed in the darkness.