Watching television, I gradually started to sense that the figures on the screen weren’t the only things moving in the room. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the subjects in the photographs on the fireplace and the wall had changed slightly; an altered expression, an adjusted posture, perhaps. My normally-gentle sister Jan appeared angry. Auntie Emma seemed to be frowning instead of smiling. Ann-Louise, my ex-wife, seemed to be holding something in her lap: a revolver? She certainly wasn’t smiling, for sure.
Then I realised someone was behind me.