It Was A Dark Night - écrit personnel en anglais

It was a dark night. He was looking for her, driving continuously since four hours. His hands were palpitating and his lips were quivering. Where is she? The night was drawing near. He had to reach the place somehow.

All of this started when Ben met this young gir1 in a pub and started to like her at first sight. She seemed to show great interest in him. Every day they met at the same time and place with Ben talking about his family his friends and how he wanted to marry her. But what never struck Ben was that the girl never spoke about her personal life. Perhaps she was too shy! All of a sudden she stopped meeting him. He waited and waited but she did not come back. He got nervous and decided to search for her. She had told him nothing but about a house on Lancer Street. He drowe to the street asking people the way to the house. Clearly he had never heard about the place. Finally, he reached Lancer Street. But this place had a queer tocling about it. It was dark and cold. While on th way, he had asked a shopkeeper about the house, who suddenly seemed to be quite nervous. After much hard work Ben reached the house. It was an old tattered building with no lights. How could this be possible! He saw a man lighting a Cgarette nearby and asked him about gin. The man looked at him in a strange manner He told Ben that a girl IMed here 80 years back, but she died mysteriously. She used to tist a pub regularly in Washington street. But one day she never came back. Ben was shocked. What he heard was not believable!

It was a dark night, and despite the blazing fire roaring in the hearth I still had chills running down my spine. The wind howled and moaned like a hundred mourning widows crying over the dead bodies of their recently lost husbands. The oak tree out back would occasionally brush the roof with a bare branch, it sounded as if it were some unholy minion fighting for purchase on my roof top during this rain swept storm. Brutus my normally overbearing guard dog lay whimpering in the corner as he whined at every flash of light and peal of thunder that seemed to be directed at us an no one else. I sit here in my rocking chair, wrapped in the finest blanket my mother had stitched for me and sipped a nice hot cup of tea. But unfortunately I cannot shake the feeling as if some dark entity is lurking in the shadows of the night and peering into the back of my head, wishing for my untimely demise or even worse yet. To inhabit my body and take over my soul...

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