The Island at the Edge of Night

The house was all in darkness, and the storm was still raging outside – just as it had been when I’d gone to bed a few hours before. But I wasn’t in my bed now. I was standing at the top of the stairs, with no memory of how I had got there. Had I been sleepwalking? I was in my nightdress, and the floorboards were cold as glass beneath my bare feet.
‘Aunt Christina? Father?’ I called, but there was no reply. Lightning flashed, sudden and blinding white. I gripped the banister to steady myself, to steady my heart. Thunder crashed above the city and rain hammered on the roof and windows, pounding a pulse in my brain – frightened and furious. Was it the storm that had woken me? Or was it something else? I made my way down the stairs and out of the kitchen door, into the walled garden. I remember the wind and rain striking hard, making me gasp. Fallen leaves slimed wet between my toes and my nightdress clung heavy and cold.