I was having a great time writing my novel, but now my brain won't share.
It had all started with the kitty in the mailbox. There had been a strange smell in the front yard that morning. Niah would normally step out of the front door a coffee cup in her hand and her keys dangling from her mouth. She had stopped because of the strange black staining on her letterbox. It was the colour of rust in places. As she had stepped closer it was thicker in places a dry crust. She had put her fingers on the stuff and let it crumble between them. As she pulled them away she couldn’t help but raise them to her nose for a sniff. The metallic smell had alarm bells ringing, it was blood. At the base of the mailbox a thick syrup of red tainted with brown oozed and dribbled down the white post to form a puddle beneath like a moat surrounding a castle. At this point Niah had began to tremble. Her flesh blossomed with goose bumps, she had become so terrifyingly cold. The silver watch on her wrist jingled as with a shuddering hand she reached for the lid of the mail box and opened it.
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