In the old laundry room, James quickly threw his bedding into the washing machine. He never liked this place, with its dodgy lights, electrical hum and strangely active pipes that banged and rattled. He swore as he got to the bottom of the basket. Where was his sheet?
A dragging sound. Turning, he saw nothing – was that movement behind the row of driers? He slowly stood up and walked around, and saw his plain white bedsheet, hanging on a drier. He stepped closer, the fluorescent light flickered. The sheet was gone. He felt a fabric tickle on the nape of his neck.
The Tiny Library 