The Watchers, by Fliss Zakaszewska

It was only a tiny sound, so faint. Was someone knocking to come in … or imagination? It was easy to roll over and go back to sleep on a balmy summer’s night. It was cosy and warm in the cottage, nothing to fear.

Fifteen years rolled by, and the cottage continued to be a hive of activity as the family grew and left home. Every so often, the gentlest of knocking could be heard.

The builder came to replace the cracked ceiling. He shook his head.

“Oh, dear. Didn’t you hear the tapping? Deathwatch Beetle’s eaten right through your timbers.”


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