And I can hear it breathing - It's such an eerie feeling, darling.

I've no idea what to write about tonight, so here you are:

Greg The Florist - Part I have no idea because John's last part said he had no idea.

It's been a very long time, but we last left our heroes in the kitchen of their castle, having had an odd day in the local village...

Something scraped slowly across the glass of the window. There was a faint shape, a deeper shadow in the darkness outside the warm glow of the kitchen. And then it was gone. 

John swallowed. "What," he said, adjusting his sentence carefully. "the hell was that?" He got up and moved to the window, Greg beside him. 

There was nothing there. 

"Should we...go and look?" Greg asked, eyes wide.

"No!" John answered, far too quickly.

"So...we'll stay in here?" They both glanced around, into the darkness beyond the kitchen doorway.

"Um...maybe, we should...light a fire. Yeah?" John suggested. "Make one room , you know, snug. Cozy. Warm."

Greg nodded. "Right, good idea."

They both hesitated before moving away from the window, and sticking very close together as they made it as far as the hall light switch.

Once they reached the drawing room it became clear that there was an obvious flaw in their plan.

"No wood," Greg said, looking at the folorn pile of kindling and small stack of old newspapers next to the fireplace.

John shivered.

"You...you start laying the fire. I'll fetch the wood," Greg said, decisively.

John hesitated, but finally nodded.

Greg picked up the log basket and walked back the way they had come, trying to keep his stride long and confident, all senses on alert.

John carefully bunched up newspaper and arranged the small sticks, then grabbed the box of matches from the mantlepiece.

At that moment there was an odd thudding noise, and all the lights went out.

John swore. Then shakily fumbled a match out of the box, striking it and beginning to make his way to the kitchen.

"Greg?" he called out. "I think we've blown a fuse." He dropped the match as it burnt down to his fingers, and struck another as fast as he could.

When he reached the kitchen the door banged closed in a breeze, making him jump out of his skin.

"Greg?" He called, pulling the door open and peering out into the darkness.

There was nothing there but silence and the rustling of the wind in the trees....