He was tall and slim with long dark hair; I couldn't look away, I couldn't move, I was like a mouse before the snake. He was there, standing right in ...ront of me, my eyes couldn't pull away from his dark bottomless pits; I could see death there. His hand reached up and encircled my neck and then he spoke."Do you know who I am?" he said with an evil smile that didn't reach his dead eyes."N-no," I croaked in reply."I'm your worst nightmare," he said, his hand around my neck slowly squeezed. This. The widow of a former lighthouse keeper, Mrs Owen, was the relief standby and weekend substitute. First Mike had made silver jewelry to cut the boredom, lovely pieces which Mrs Owen sold at the markets, taking a small commission. Then he painted in water colours ships passing lighthouses, the occasional ship at sea in a violent storm and very occasionally flocks of seagulls. Now he was trying to write hot sexy novels. The phone went. ‘North Head Signal Station – Duty officer Mike Johns. More

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