See You Thursday by Jean Ure
Marianne was in bed when the lodger arrived back, by himself, from his concert. She heard the front door open and close, heard him slowly making his way up the stairs. First step, second step - she hadn't put that tack in. She hadn't put that blasted tack in. That's the third time I've asked - God, don't let him trip over it! There would be hell to pay. How many more times? Never do a THING that I ask you...
Third step. Fourth step. Breathe again. First thing tomorrow morning - yes. I will! I swear it! She would make an effort and would wake up early. She would go downstairs and she would do it before anyone was about. She would bang her head on the pillow, six times, very hard, and...
The lodger had reached the top. He seemed to have stopped, she couldn't hear footsteps any more. She stiffened, straining both ears. What was he doing? Had he lost his bearings? Forgotten which way to turn? Cold wet goose bumps tingled up her spine. If he were to come barging into the wrong room ~
The lodger moved on, across the passage; tap tap tap with his stick like Blind Pew. The sound was eerie in the darkened house. Marianne shivered, pulling the bedclothes farther up about her shoulders. There was something unnerving in the thought of a blind man being out there, just on the other side of the door, creeping about in the blackness.
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