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there's a chance you will find some happiness, but if you don't I can see a darkness that will overpower you."

He leapt to his feet "Stop this now!" he shouted. "I can see what you're doing. If I make the right' decision to leave you and your money alone my future will be rosy, right? And what if I don't? You think you can stop me by telling me this rubbish? You think I'm going to just go away? Show me where you keep the money now, you stupid old woman!" He grabbed her by the arm, nearly letting go again in disgust. It was like holding a bone, there was so little muscle left. She allowed herself to be pushed towards the door.

"It's upstairs, I'll show you where. Don't hurt me!"

"That's more like it, don't think you can fool me. Hurry up. I want to get out of this dump."

They went upstairs, he half pushed and half carried her in his eagerness to get the money and run. She was out of breath and panting at the top of the stairs. "That room, over there." she said. He pushed her towards the door and she opened it, fumbling with the door handle. The door opened onto a room which shone with a treasure trove of antique silver objects and old paintings. He dropped her arm and walked as if in a trance into the room, aware that here was more wealth than he could have imagined. His head was spinning with the good fortune that had made him come to the house this night to be the recipient of all of this. He spun around when he heard the door close behind him and the key scrape in the lock. He ran to the door and tried to force it open, but it was old and heavy and thoroughly secured. He ran to the window and pulled the old curtain across revealing heavy iron bars securing the window frame. He realised he was trapped and beat and kicked against the door in frustration and rage.

The old woman retraced her steps back to the head of the stairs. "It's not my fault," she muttered to herself "I told him he had choices, but he chose that one. It's not my fault!" Halfway down the stairs she recoiled in fear and hid her eyes as a cold, primeval, creeping darkness slid hungrily up the wall and over the ceiling towards the room upstairs attracted by the primitive emotions of greed, anger and the growing fear that it sensed beyond the door.

"Take him!" she cried, "He's young and full of life. Take him and leave me!"

She crept the rest of the way downstairs, fearful that her latest sacrificial offering would not be enough, and barricaded herself back in her room. She was listening to the radio and drinking her tea with shaking hands when the screaming finally stopped.

Learn more about this author, Elsie Parker.
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