I mentioned before that I had had some short stories published in a woman’s magazine called Honey many years ago. I have no idea now where the idea from this story came from, but I did have a spooky experience at about that time.
I was living with a couple of friends in a rather ghastly flat, on the ground floor of an old Victorian house. There was no central heating in those days and the only heater was an electric fire in the sitting room which we huddled round doing our college work. There was a short passage from the sitting room to the kitchen. The sitting room had a tatty carpet, the passage way had lino and there was a step down into the kitchen which had a wooden floor. It was so miserably cold in the kitchen that we took it in turns to go and make a hot drink of tea or coffee. It was my turn and I was in the kitchen when I heard footsteps on the lino in the passage and then the clink of heels on the wooden floor. I turned round to give whoever the drinks I had just made… and there was no-one there. I went back into the sitting room and my friends were sitting as I had left them, deep into their work… so who, or what had made the foosteps I heard?