SHE IS A MARRIED WOMAN

There was a door in the garden. Amelia crossed to it, pausing to look at the ugly courtyard house opposite. She walked closer, curious as to why she found this particular house familiar and creepy.

She opened the door and to a scene of violence. Amelia halted, dismayed, on the threshold. The shield-shaped mirror that had stood on a dusty table was face down upon the floor, its glass smashed into shards that still lay where they had fallen and the chair before the table was thrown on its side. One curtain hung from its last two rings, seemingly dragged down by some clutching hand.

Gasping, she moved abruptly backwards and she saw something right by the door. It was a piece of clothing. A piece of nightgown, perhaps, and it seemed the person was trying to run but her clothes got caught by a nail on the door.

There was also brown splashed on the wall. Like dry blood.

What had happened in this house? Abduction? Rape? Murder?

The atmosphere here seemed to be of anger and fear. Behind