John Sinclair - The Sinister of Dartmoor

Mary Wicker sat up abruptly in her bed. Something had woken her. A noise? Or was it just the sound of the rain? She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. It was unbearably humid in the room. The woman glanced at the glowing face of her wristwatch. One hour past midnight, and Tom was still not home. A sense of unease gripped her. Had something happened in the prison? Mary's heart was beating faster than usual. She reached for the nightstand drawer to get some pills – when her gaze fell on the window. Outside, two splayed hands were sliding up the glass.