A certain darkness had entered the room, the life drained from every fibre of her being. The hairs on her neck jolted to life, frozen and on end. Itching quivers raced down her spine and coursed through her body. The girl felt cold and alone. And that was when she saw it. Out of the corner of her eye. She could feel its presence from the moment she entered the room. A hollow and dark corner of the room housed a great wardrobe. It had intricate and ornate hand-carved patterns weaving their way over the doors concealing the ghastly sight within. It loomed over her, staring down with judgement. It beckoned the girl. The darkness was calling. Intimidated, she approached. Cautious, terrified, aware that on some level whatever was concealed within the wardrobe would turn her life upside down.

The air in the room stood still; it dared not make a sound.

She reached toward the key, the cold metal surface biting her fingers on contact. She turned the key. The door unlocked with a heavy audible clunk from the latch. Heart racing, blood pounding, head throbbing, she delicately moved her hand to the handle. She pulled, the door resisted, trying to protect the girl from its contents. Through a mixture of her fear and determination the wardrobe crept open, its rusted hinges wailing at the stress. The girl peered inside.

She manages a scream…

‘Hello?’

‘Speaking,’

‘I see…’

‘I will be there right away.’

Detective Johnson: a sophisticated yet blunt man hardened by witnessing years of death and broken families. Luckily for the girl, he would inevitably solve the murder of her father. That is what she found by the way, her father, murdered and shoved in the wardrobe of the spare room.