"Is there anybody there?"

I had my English exam recently and one of the prompts for the essay was 'Write a story beginning with this line : "Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, knocking on the moonlit door.'

I thought there was ample scope for a good story in this (there was) and took it, but the product I churned out was truly awful. It involved a German spy, a damsel in distress and a strong man torn between duty and love. It doesn't take much imagination to envision the tale I spun. I only hope that at least I would have given my teacher a good laugh as she read it.

Now this is what I ought to have written:

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, knocking on the moonlit door.

Even as he spoke the little door swung open noiselessly on its hinges, revealing a dark interior. The traveller stepped in hesitantly, to hear a voice say, "Shut the door."

He complied, and, while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, said conversationally, "I've been walking the whole day - taking a tour of the country, you know. You have some beautiful scenery here. I'm Tim, by the way."

By this time he could make out a form at the opposite side of the room, shrouded in veils. "Welcome Tim," spoke the female, as Tim could make out by her voice. "Would you like to eat something? You must be hungry and tired, I am certain."

"Sure, " said Tim enthusiastically. He'd been expecting no more than a few minutes rest before leaving again. The prospect of food and company, for he had been walking alone, enticed him.

Th woman glided gracefully out and returned a few minutes later bearing a bowl of something that smelled wonderful. She placed it on a coffee table at the centre of the room and beckoned him over. Tim couldn't identify the taste, but it certainly was appetising, and he fell to the food with gusto.

His hostess drew back a curtain so that some moonlight lit up his meal, but otherwise everything was shrouded in darkness. Tim noticed that she herself sat a little away from the light, a veil covering her from even a stray beam. He asked her about it.

"The light hurts my eyes," she said. "I suffer from a rare ailment and cannot face brightness. So I'm here in this cottage all the time. It gets lonely often, as there are very few visitors."

Tim was sympathetic. He couldn't imagine what she must feel like, sitting here in solitude day after day. Never at a loss for conversation, he chattered throughout the meal, while his hostess served him with excellent food till he felt quite full and a little drowsy. He downed a glass of water and stood up.

"Thanks a lot for the food - it was simply wonderful! Can I pay you in any way for it? I'll be getting on now since I'm rather sleepy and there's nothing like a good brisk walk to wake one up."

The woman had also stood up, but merely to draw a chair forward. "Couldn't you stay for a while? It has been a while since I had such an interesting companion. You tell some fascinating tales."

Tim felt flattered, and rather pitied the woman. His conversation hadn't been very profound, but no doubt to the lonely woman it must have been absorbing. Well, it was the least he could do after her hospitality to entertain her a while, he thought. She was a good listener, too - a rare find. So he sat down on the inviting chair and expounded on his favourite topics - recession, global warming and the rise of unfunny sitcoms.

She did not speak much, just a nod or a word now and then, but looked at him with intense interest. That spurred him on till he completely forgot the time or his resolution to reach town before midnight. He had been feeling sleepy, a consequence of his heavy meal, when he had first sat down, but as time went by he became more alert and fresh, occasionally jumping out of his seat and striding around the room or banging on the table to emphasize his point : his hostess listening all the while with perfect, unwavering attention. Tim did not notice or wonder at this; he was already half under the sleep-sucker's spell - for that was what it was.

The sleep-sucker was an ancient creature that lured in unwary travellers and stole their sleep by making them stay awake the whole night, either by drawing them into conversation skilfully or by other means. The method of such a theft was very simple - once dawn broke out and the hapless victim hadn't slept a wink the entire night, his sleep was forfeited for ever and was doomed to be eternally awake while the sleep-sucker used the robbed sleep to rest. Sleep-suckers can sleep only as long as their victims are alive; when they die due to their extreme exhaustion the creature is forced to roam without rest till it snares its next victim.

Tim didn't notice the first faint rays of dawn coming through the window. He didn't notice the creature shift with expectation and smile underneath her veil. He didn't notice that he was slowly losing all vestiges of sleep - becoming almost hyper-awake. However he did notice when the front door was suddenly broken down and two young men entered, pointing guns directly at him.

He stopped pacing the room and stared, gaping, at them.

"Get out of the way," one of them shouted as the other dived behind him.

Tim had one clear idea - that he must protect the poor woman behind him. He turned, only to stop with horror.

The woman had thrown off her veil. By the light from the door Tim could see that she was deathly white with awful, black, staring eyes, now gleaming with utter hatred and malice. She screamed, an unearthly sound, and made a leap as if to escape outside the window. One of the gunners took precise aim and shot the creature through the body. As Tim watched, her form blurred as though it was made of steam and then vanished, leaving behind a heap of draperies.

All of a sudden Tim felt extremely sleepy, really tired in fact. He made his way to a couch and sank on it, rubbing his eyes. However he looked up long enough to ask the extraordinary young men, "Who are you? What is that thing? How did you know?"

Both of them exchanged looks. "I'm Dean," said the man who had shot the creature. "This is my brother Sam. We're ghost-hunters. See Sammy," he said, turning to his sibling, "I told you that the only way to kill the sucker is to put a silver bullet through it three hours before dawn. I think you owe me a beer."

Sam Winchester rolled his eyes and stepped out of the cottage as his brother grinned and followed him. "That book said specifically to feed it opium mixed with salt. I'm surprised that the journal didn't..."

But Tim didn't hear anything more. He was fast asleep and snoring heavily.

Note: Yes, I'm a 'Supernatural' fan and couldn't resist dragging Dean and Sam in. This story is located in the middle of Season one.