The old man behind the roll top desk snored on. A heavy black boot with a bar on the bottom thumped over the floor.
Brown eyes opened, blinked, peered through the gloom at the intruder, called, “Who’s there? If you’re a Hun come to murder me in my sleep, well I’m not a sleep. I’ve been waiting for you.” A steady hand reached down, came back up in an instant holding a gleaming double barreled shotgun by the stock. Twin hammers were pulled back with an ominous click.
Calum shouted, “It’s me sir, your son Calum.” A shaking hand dropped from the cart handle. He edged back towards the door. Cold sweat formed on his pallid forehead, dripped down his cheeks, dropped unnoticed to the floor as he waited for his head to be blown off.
This is an excerpt from my latest book, “I’ll Play my Pipes in the Gloaming,” now available on Amazon. Just click on the link and own your copy today.