A Tentative Return.

The Library rang me to tell me a book I ordered had come in.
I hoped in a way that it wasn't this one.
I read The Shining when I was younger than my son is now (he is 24), and I still remember the fear.
I had imagined there would be a lovely long safe wait before I got my hands on a copy.
And that the copy might be a bit softened around the edges, have a friendly worn feel to it.
But no. It is hard and new. Tight pages await me.
I have gone to bed early, to get stuck in. Frighten myself, revive the fear I enjoyed and hated so much all those years ago.
The reviews said it wasn't frightening.
What are they on?
The first six pages have sent me scuttling onto here, to delay my return. It is a windy dark night out there, and I am not feeling cosy. Far from it.
Is that thunder?