Posted by Gemma Mawdsley on Sunday, January 1, 2012 Under: A Ghost Story for Christmas
Christ, Mike thought, as he walked towards the waiting taxi. I’m Jonathan Harker about to meet my own Dracula. Once settled in the back seat, he patted the pouch in the front of the holdall and heard the soothing rattle of the pill bottle. His antidepressants would have there work cut out for them if everything he heard about the elusive Mr Price was true. His hands shook a little as he patted the course material beneath his fingers. The effect of his last dose was wearing off and the memory of Frank’s words and the bus driver’s superstitious nonsense hadn’t helped. This was the 21st century and there was nothing that science could not explain. There were no vampires, no monsters or hideous creatures of the night. He had a lot to learn.
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