What's Yours Is Mine

Martin took something that didn't belong to him and now something wants it back.

As his pursuer gets closer and his fear mounts, Martin faces a race against time to figure what is after him in a desperate bid to stop it from taking back its possession, and perhaps him too.


2. Chapter 2

The evening was going much better than the day had. Martin was pleasantly full from dinner. His dad was back from work on time for once, so mum had cooked lasagne, pretty much his favourite, and he’d had two platefuls. It was annoying that his dad worked a lot of weekends, so she always cooked up something extra tasty when he was home in time for them to enjoy dinner as a family. Martin had also done his homework on Friday after school, so now he was free to do what he wanted. He didn’t have to be in bed until nine, and it was only seven, though it was as dark as midnight beyond his window. The days’ heavy clouds had finally burst open, and had not yet stopped, so rain was battering against his window. He loved that sound, knowing that he was warm and cosy inside while it was so horrible outside.

At the bottom of his bed was his very own television, an old hand me down from his cousin, and his Xbox, with a bean bag positioned perfectly, into which he collapsed. As his game loaded, he glanced at the watch. He’d wedged it on the bookshelf above the tv, hidden slightly by one of the Harry Potter’s, so his parents didn’t see it. Maybe he’d take it to school, to show Kelly and Rob. Rob would say it was awesome.

He flinched slightly at a sound coming from outside that was not the rain, nor his game. He looked up at the window but could only see darkness and streams of water. He struggled up off the bean bag and pressed his face against the glass, cupping his eyes with his hands. Nothing was out there. The street below was quiet, dark. The streetlamps lit up nothing but streaks of rain drops, the tops of one or two cars, and some trashcans in front of the house across the road. One of the bins was on it’s side, the shiny black of a bin bag exposed to the rain. Must have fallen over in the wind. It was pretty blustery out there. He pulled the curtains closed and slumped back down, scooping up the Xbox controller and pressing start.


It was the scratching that woke him. Pushing some fringe out of his face, he sat up. His eyes were a blur, and he rubbed sleep away. The room was still. Dark and still. Just listening, Martin waited. It was still raining, but there was no other sound. He plumped up his pillows and lay back down, dragging his duvet over his head.

His heart skipped a beat when the scratching came again. That was not rain! He sat up again, more awake now, listening intently. Scratch. It was coming from outside, an unfamiliar sound he couldn’t pin down, a bit like scratching a nail down a chalk board, but not quite.

He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and stood, feeling his heart beating quicker now, a dull thud under his ribcage. Slowly he reached for the curtains and, holding his breath, made a small gap to peek out into the night, scared at what he might see. Nothing. The street was still quiet. He let his breath out, feeling a little stupid. Yawning, he climbed back under the covers. He stayed motionless for a while, his ears still pricked, but heard no more. As his body relaxed his breathing became deeper and was out like a light, too deep asleep to hear the gentle ticking coming from the pocket watch, hidden away in the shadows on his shelf. He slept until his alarm beep beep beeped the arrival of Monday morning.

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