06 February 2025
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Read James McCreet's suggested rewrite of the piece critiqued in Under the Microscope
Heather looked out into the darkness. Treetops were just visible against the night sky. The nearest building was just a single, distant point of light. She’d agreed to meet Henry here on the edge of the village rather than have him pick her up at home. That was the problem with village gossip. And with “Sergeant Major” Mother’s inevitable interrogation
I’m eighteen, dammit, she reasoned. Old enough to meet twenty-one-year-old, tall, muscular, blonde and gorgeous Henry. True, he had a reputation as a ladies’ man, but . . . well, he was fit.
She looked at her watch and tapped her foot. If he wasn’t so gorgeous . . .
Something rattled behind her. She gasped and turned. It had been very¬ close.
She peered into the gloom. Nothing. A rat? A cat?
No . . . There was something just there in the bushes barely ten feet away: two points of light. Eyes?
She realised she wasn’t breathing – but something was. She leaned forward, ears straining. Yes – it was some kind of hoarse breathing. The red eyes blinked.
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