Incubus
Lara lay in her bed staring at the deep red velvet canopy that hung above the dark oak four poster bed she was attempting to sleep in. Outside the wind and rain whipped the window panes and shook them in their frames. The whole house seemed to move and creak as it was battered by the storm. She pulled the duvet up around her and rolled onto her side desperate to sleep. She never slept well away from home and it was made even harder in this old guest house with its hard bed and cold draughty rooms. High up on the Yorkshire Moors, it must have been hundreds of years old she guessed, with its low, beamed ceilings and dark rooms not helped by the small leaded windows, that were now shaking so violently …