The Face Aff

A bedroom with a hatch that leads to the attic. A young person trying to get to sleep but cannae. The father laughing at the TV blaring down the hall in sharp contrast to the quiet sinister sounds coming from the attic above the bed. Whit’s gonnae come oot o that hatch in this gripping Scots horror story by Sam Best?

Ah lay still and listened. Sometimes when Ah listen gey carefully Ah feel like Ah can hear ma ain pulse – the bluid skooshin through ma veins wi a steady pull like the tide – and the nicht it wis nae different. The mair Ah focused the mair Ah could hear the white noise ae ma ain hairtbeat. Somewhere in the background Ah thought Ah could hear laughter and it took me a meenit tae realise it wis the sound ae ma Da’s TV doon the hall. He aye watches thae comedy specials; ken the wans wi three or fower comedians aw daein a wee bit. Every noo and again Ah can hear him laughin along. The sound jarred wi how Ah felt. Ma stomach wis twisted ticht and Ah could feel adrenaline scuddin through me, even though Ah couldnae yet figure oot why. Dae ye ever get that, when your body feels like it’s gettin ready tae fight or run but you’re no quite sure whit’s wrang? Like if you’re walkin through a tunnel at nicht and even though there’s naebody aroon you suddenly start tae tense up? Get aw feart? It’s like a sixth sense for danger and richt noo mines wis goin aff like a fire alarm.