Ten stories.None of themend well.

You board the 11:52. It never reaches a station.

A village road at midnight. A woman asking for a lift. One old rule you were told never to break.

You wake at the same minute every night. Something is counting down.

Night duty on a closed ward. Nine beds. Nine charts. Ten patients.

The flat downstairs has been empty for two years. Someone is moving furniture at night.

The hotel has no fourth floor. Your key card says 404.

You are the only operator at a relay station in the hills. At 1am, something starts answering.

A VHS in a house clearance. Forty minutes of your childhood living room, filmed while you slept.

A flooded quarry, forty metres down, one torch. There is a village at the bottom, and its lights are on.

Detention, 6pm, an empty school. The teacher supervising you retired in 1997.