*DING DONG*

“Maria! Could you get that please?” Shouted mum from the kitchen.

“Yes…” I called back, lazily. I slumped down the stairs, my feet thumping every step I took.

*DING DONG* went the doorbell again.

“Maria!” She yelled again.

I rushed down and made my way to the front door. What would anyone be doing knocking on our front door in the middle of a raging storm?

I pulled out the latch and opened the door. *SQUEAK*

“Hello…?” I asked the strange tall figure. “Who are you?”

“I’m Mr Wickham, from next door…” he said as he folded his umbrella.

I looked at him. His face, nonexistent.

“Arghhh!” I shrieked. I slammed the door and ran towards the kitchen to get my parents.

Though, as I was running, something looked off. Everything was in the same place, but a different version. A dark and decayed version. All the plaster from the walls were peeling, and the dark red bricks were peeking through. I slowed to a stop when I realised that I wasn’t at the same place I was just 2 minutes ago.

The chipped tiles of the kitchen floor were all browned and dirty, though I was reassured to see my mum standing at the sink, her back towards me.

“Mum! What’s going on?!” I cried.

She slowly turned around.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” A distorted voice called out.

It wasn’t my mum. It was Mr Wickham.