A young boy is trying to get to sleep one night. His parents are watching TV downstairs, but it's not the noise that's keeping him awake. It's the voices. The boy is sure he can hear someone whispering, indistinct but definitely there. He ignores it though; he's too old for nightmares. He pulls his pillow over his ears and tries to go to sleep.
But the whispering doesn't stop, and every so often he finds that he can hear a bit of it clearly. One moment he's sure he hears a faint voice calling, "Coming to get you. Ten miles away." A little while later he's almost certain he hears that same voice chanting "Coming to get you. Six miles away."
He glances out his window, but the street outside is empty. And it's not the TV, he's sure. When he hears the voice again, this time calling "Coming to get you. Two miles away," he starts to get a bit freaked out. But there's no way he's going to go crying to his parents over some silly noise.
He lies in bed, waiting. And the voice comes again: "Coming to get you. One mile away." He's certain that he hears it, and equally certain that it's not real. The boy is torn. On the one hand he's frightened out of his wits, but on the other he doesn't want to look like a scared little baby, even to his parents.
And then it comes again. "Coming to get you. Outside the front door." The boy sits up straight in bed, but before he can react the voice sounds again: "Coming to get you. In your hallway."
The boy doesn't care about looking scared anymore. He wants his parents. He gets up and runs onto the landing. As he's going downstairs he hears the voice one last time: "Coming to get you. In your living room." And he freezes dead. The living room. Where his parents are. For a long time he's too scared to move, but at last he forces himself to continue downstairs.
"Mum," he calls, as he pushes open the living room door. "Dad?" He enters and stands staring at his parents. They lie slumped on the sofa, lifeless and blue.
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