NUMBER 14 by Sue Johnson

I remember the day we moved there – the dinginess of the hallway with its old-fashioned dado rail and thick brown wallpaper. The faint smell of gas and mice. The sense that someone was watching us from the shadows. A malevolent presence that didn’t want us.

I was ten. Back then, when I’d said how scared I felt alone in my bedroom at night, I’d been ridiculed.

“If you keep on, we’ll take you to a psychiatrist,” my Dad said.

From then on, I slept with a crucifix round my neck and a Bible beside my bed.

Sue Johnson is a poet, novelist and playwright. Further details of her work can be found at www.writers-toolkit.co.uk

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