By Anthony Horowitz
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Extra resources for The Puffin Book of Horror Stories
My soul was like an open wound. ' I shook my head without replying. 'Monsieur is making a mistake,' he tried again. 'Monsieur will make himself ill. ' I said, 'No. ' And he went. How the hours slid past, I don't know. Oh! What a night! What a night! It was cold; my fire had gone out in the main fireplace and the wind, a winter wind, a frozen wind, a great wind full of ice, knocked against the windows with a sinister, repetitive sound. How did the hours slide past? I sat there, not sleeping, weighed down, overpowered, my eyes open, my legs stretched out, my body powerless, dead and my spirit filled with despair.
We remove the tiger-cubs so that the rest, the sheep, may safely graze, as one might put it. I only fear we might not catch enough tiger-cubs in time. The young keep on coming like an inexorable flood, wanting what their fathers and grandfathers had. ' They sat looking at each other, in mildly depressed silence. 'That bicycle was a sure sign,' said Boston at last. 'Most original - first I've seen in years. Originality is always a danger. I'd better get the bike off the street, before it's noticed.
Your constant moaning makes me sick,' the old man had said, putting on his worker's cap with the numbered brass badge. 'I keep you - you get free sport, free contraceptives, free drugs and a twenty-channel telly. You lie in bed till tea-time. At your age…' 'You had a job,' shouted Martin. ' 'Some job. Two hours a day. Four times in two hours a bloody bell rings and I check a load of dials and write the numbers in a book that nobody needs and nobody reads. ' 'Mates? I see the fore-shift when I clock on, and the back-shift when I clock off.