An Intruder Calls (or why watching The Killing late at night is a bad idea )

wpid-20130101_121755-1.jpgIt’s the early hours of Jan 5 2013. The last evening of our holiday in Scarborough’s Windmill.

Reception has been closed for the last 3 days, we’re the only residents and the only sound outside is the call of the seagulls.

We’d chosen the killing (series one) as our box set for the week and after what had seemed like a marathon effort (none of us realised it was 20 episodes long) we were fast approaching the denouement.

The Mayor was having a heart attack, Haartman was contemplating a confession of sorts as he polished off the brandy, Meyer was dead and Lund was on the run from a pompous police investigator with an annoying beard. Meanwhile the killer -let’s call him Sara84 was going for a drive in the woods with his mate.

The killer’s van pulls up in the forest. There’s footsteps …only those footsteps aren’t on a woodland path. There on the gravel outside our door. Theres a crash and then our front door is tried. It’s not locked but is a little stiff. It doesn’t open.

By now we’d clocked someone really was outside. One of or group opens the door and confirmms there is a man stumbling around wearing a baseball cap but (thankfully)not in the red uniform of Bik Laarsen . We pause the DVD. I go out and ‘chat’ with our own perpetrator. I ask him what he wants – he tells me he’s looking for Richard.

This freaks me somewhat as one of our party is indeed called Richard. I ask baseball cap man where he’s from – he tells me Bridlington (or was it Scarborough – I’d be an awful witness) and I explain we’re holiday makers. How could we possibly know him. He starts searching the flower beds. This is getting weirder by the minute. I tell him I’ll get the proprietor. We ring the doorbell – twice – but nothing happens. His glazed eyes try to look daggers at me an effect which is rather ruined when he stumbles. He’s now being totally incoherent – talking about needing to see Richard to get something – some thing he needs tonight. By now ‘our’ Richard has joined me as we try and usher our guest from the courtyard telling him to come back tomorrow. We do eventually manage to usher him away but not before he’s tried every door on site.

As he leaves Richard calls the police (the station is in fact just 500 yards down the road). Needless to say we loose signal half way through the conversation. Having got back in contact the police advise us to go back indoors and lock the doors. Given we have a 2 year old in our party we’re happy to comply. To be honest we’re all now a bit stressed out – there’s a lot of nervous laughter.

And thats when we see him again – staring in through the bloody window.

(Now I have something of a track record of being easily spooked. In another of those unpublished blogs of 2012 I’d written:-

‘I can remember as a teanager watching one of those Agatha Christie Miss Marple’s with Joan Hickson.

The episode in question had a particularly gruesome death but needless to say miss marple was up to the task. As this happened…

I was sent to bed. Forgetting to put on the stair light I raced up in half light, bounded round the half turn and coming face to face with the toilet door I let out a blood curdling scream.

There was a lifeless hand portruding from under said door.

Within seconds I was back in the front room, a quivering wreck refusing to go back upstairs. A responsible adult was sent to investigate.

Moments later they returned triumphantly waving a marigold glove. I’d been freaked out by a semi inflated rubber glove trapped beneath the toilet door. It was yet another example of what one of my teachers described as my ‘vivid imagination’.)

Back to The Windmill ….we ring the police again who helpfully tell us ‘someone is on site’ when we can quite clearly tell no-one is there but us and baseball cap man. Where the hell is Sarah Lund when you need her.

After what seems like hours (it wasn’t) we hear voices but by now none of us are prepared to open the curtains let alone the front door. Another 15 minutes passes before there is a knock on the door and our proprietor is at the door checking we are all ok. Half way down Mill Lane a police car is reversing down the lane. Well yes we are ok – but seriously spooked.

But having watched 19.5 episodes in 5 days there was nothing for it but to baricade the doors …


..and watch the final 20 minutes of The Killing.

Not surprisingly that night I couldn’t sleep so found myself reading into the early hours.

My reading material for the week has been deliberately chosen – Anne Bronte’s The tenant of Wildfell Hall.


Not quite a Victorian version of the killing though you can’t help but think that Sarah Lund and Helen Graham share several characteristics.

Needless to say all this was a very lively dream concoction so when sleep came my brain went into overdrive. I can recall Sarah Lund breaking and entering Wildfell Hall. Unknown to her our visitor was on the prowl..complete with baseball hat…searching out Richard in the garden and randomly trying doors.  Blood was streaming from his head ..though whether the wound was caused by Theiss or Gilbert Markham wasn’t clear.  Having heard the door handle rattle Lund finally turns and sees our visitor staring through the window.

Then nothing. Just the total blackout of deep sleep.

A curious way to end a holiday.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s