Frantic.

The iron metal side gate clattered loose. It clanged repeatedly, hard against the open latch. The first bang woke me, but the repetition made me sit bolt upright in my bed. 

The security gate could only be opened from the inside.

My pulse started to race. I gulped down the glass of water on my bedside locker to calm myself. I tried to switch on the bedside lamp but nothing happened. I tried the main room light but that too failed to illuminate.

The howling of the wind outside confirmed to me that either the power was gone in the neighbourhood - or something else was at play.

Glancing out the bedroom window I couldn't definitively tell if it was a neighbourhood problem. Rain lashed the pane in intermittent sheets of thick and misty ocean spew. Visibility was less than fifty feet. I powered on my mobile phone and quickly saw that I had little or no reception. Was this just coincidence?

I threw my heavy cotton dressing gown on over my t-shirt. Before unlocking my bedroom door, I took a deep breath. My hand shivered as I grasped the handle. I hesitated, knowing I was going out there without any defence. History had taught me to be me cautious and less impulsive.

I wheeled around and reluctantly pulled open the second drawer of my wife's old bedside dresser unit. Unwrapping a thick white bath towel, I revealed my newest line of self defence.

It gleamed despite no lights being on in the room. I loaded the shotgun with six shells and placed six more into the right hand pocket of the dressing gown. I slipped my mobile phone into the other pocket. I grabbed the small yet powerful torch from the top drawer of the bedside locker and sellotaped it to the barrel of the gun. It shined a bright path in front of the gun.

The last time something went bump in the night inside my house, I ended up in hospital with broken bones and multiple bruises. The mental torture of night terrors took longer to heal. Every bump for many nights left me sleeping with one eye open.

There were no guarantees of safety once I stepped out onto the landing. My ears were listening out for any semblance of anything that didn't belong. I quickly scanned the landing, swishing the shotgun left and right. The torchlight showed nothing blatantly out of place. I flexed my left hand, trying to stop it from shaking.

The old oak floors creaked and groaned under my weight as I nervously shuffled down the stairs. The banister inched a little as I grasped it for support in the dark hallway. Reaching the front door, I started clearing the rooms from front to back. I felt a cold rush of sea air brush my bare toes from underneath the door.

It was then that I first heard the sound of branches scraping off the window of the study to my left. It made me wince but kept the adrenaline flowing. I moved slowly, checking every space that could hide an intruder.

As I reentered the hall, I heard something move in the kitchen.

I paused before turning the knob. I flicked the safety off the shotgun. My finger quivered on the trigger.

I moved quickly the aim of the gun from left to right, covering all angles. The dog flap fluttered. It flapped once again, making a somewhat similar noise I had heard in the hallway. But I wasn't convinced that it was the same noise. Not that I wanted to go outside, but I had to go investigate.

My dark green gabardine coat was on the hook at the back door. Putting it on and stepping into my navy wellies, I braced myself for the weather assault. Hearing anything above a roar would be difficult.

The flowerbeds under the windows were badly disturbed, as were the stones at the base to the iron gate.

Twigs and light branches flew left and right. The sound of waves crashing against the nearby rocks only added to the cacophony of sound. The smell of salt lingered in the air, dulling my senses further. The gate led out to a path that in turn led to the steep cliffs.

Nothing stirred - apart from everything.

Stepping out onto the shale path, I checked left and right. A bare sliver of moonlight eked through the rumbling clouds of discontent above. I checked the public car park to my right, which was entirely empty apart from the swirling mini-tornado of leaves.

As I made my way back to the gate, something moved, just out of sight.

I spotted a dark shadow further up along the path. I shouted out, but no one responded. I flicked the light to and fro along the path, but saw nothing. But I definitely saw something move.

Fighting my conscience which told me to go back inside, I nervously walked along the cliff path. The slippery shale stones were unsteady underfoot the rubber soles of my wellies. The overused, over trodden pedestrian path wasn't safe, but my instinct drove me onward.

The sound of the waves was getting louder as the nearer I got to the cliffs edge, as was the intensity of the mist which was becoming incessant.

Then I saw another movement in the corner of my eye.

Sitting on top of a cliff side grassy verge was my dog, Max.

The poor frightened thing barked back at me, half apologetic. I lowered my gun and ran toward him. The poor thing was shivering cold. I threw my coat over him and carried him back to the house.

Max was spooked by neighbours letting off fireworks in the run up to Halloween. He had been left outside by accident, and in his panic had somehow managed to unlatch the gate trying to get away from the local pups throwing bangers into neighbours houses.

I lit the fire and sat in the rocking chair with a cup of hot chocolate. Max dried off with the heat of the hearth and fell asleep at my feet. Meanwhile outside, the storm raged on through the night. 

He had frightened the bejaysus out of me, truth be told.