If only I could have slept through the night. Instead, tortured by insomnia as I was, I stalked the corridors and salons of my father's gargantuan house. I sat at the piano, aiming to amuse myself with some of my favourite passages from Debussy's Suite bergamesque, which I invariably do, as if driven to this strange ritual by an unearthly compulsion before drifting off to sleep with the first cocks' crow. I started with the Passepied, but had to stop only scant measures in. The F key made no sound. I realized that its string was missing only when I felt it tighten around my neck.
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Little Things
HorrorA collection of six-sentence horror miniatures, ideal for horror readers with short attention spans.
