Creative Writng : Things that go bump in the night
Creative Writng : Things that go bump in the night
The thud came again.
Rose clicked the television silent, straining her ear against the storm that splattered the roof with a mixture of rain and hail. Tentacles of delicate fog raked across the window glass seeking shelter from the thunderous wrath of the gale winds.
The soft thump came from the basement, as though someone, or something, had knocked a book to the floor. Rose gripped the arms of the chair and cursed her husband for leaving her alone on a night like this, knowing she was fearful of storms, empty houses and prowlers, however imaginary they might be. She'd already lit every lamp and overhead light in the house, but they failed to dispel the damp, dreary feeling of impending doom.
A frail woman by nature Rose harbored many phobias including a fear of garbage disposals. Millions of germs were feeding and breeding inside those disgusting things and Rose refused to have one installed in her kitchen. There were harmful bacteria in the suns rays and she never remained outside for more than ten minutes a stretch. At forty-five years old her skin was smooth and silky, but maintained a ghostly-white pallor. Her husband Jimmy had nagged her about getting a dog to keep her company on the nights he worked late, but Rose wouldn't hear of such a thing. What if the dog got rabies and went mad while she was alone with him? Her small delicate frame would be no match for a snarling, crazy-in-the-head animal who would shred her to pieces with its gnashing teeth.
The television screen flickered in muted silence as it ran the news story again, warning the public about the man with the knife. He'd been evading the police for weeks, leaving behind no clues or reasoning to his insatiable appetite for slaughtering woman who were home alone.
But Rose knew where to man was. He was in her basement skulking around in the dark with the butcher knife between his teeth.
She reached for the phone, preparing to summon the police again, but shuddered at the arrogance during their previous visit less than an hour ago. While searching room to room the officers exchanged rolling-eyed glances and secret hand gestures, as if satisfying a woman's qualms were a waste of their precious time. The younger cop with the sneering grin had suggested she adopt a German shepherd for company. Men!
"It's Rose Campbell again," she said weakly into the phone. Despite her attempts to sound rational her voice quivered unsteadily like a woman on the verge of insanity. "You must send someone right away. He's in my home...I just know he is."
Lightning seared the night sky and Rose thrust the receiver away from her ear, fearful of being struck through the mouthpiece. She'd read somewhere about an elderly woman struck by lightning as it traveled through the phone wires and burned her to a crisp. Her nerves jangled at the thought.
"Mrs. Campbell," ...
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"It's Rose Campbell again," she said weakly into the phone. Despite her attempts to sound rational her voice quivered unsteadily like a woman on the verge of insanity. "You must send someone right away. He's in my home...I just know he is."
Lightning seared the night sky and Rose thrust the receiver away from her ear, fearful of being struck through the mouthpiece. She'd read somewhere about an elderly woman struck by lightning as it traveled through the phone wires and burned her to a crisp. Her nerves jangled at the thought.
"Mrs. Campbell," the dispatcher sighed, "our officers have already checked your home from top to bottom and found nothing unusual." He spoke as one who'd already explained himself ten times yet failed to be understood. "Why don't you make yourself a nice cup of tea and..."
"Cup of tea?" Rose shouted as a clap of thunder rocked the house. "I don't want a cup of tea... there is a man in my house! I can hear him in the cellar, don't you understand?"
It suddenly occurred to Rose that the intruder might hear her, race up the basement stairs, knife clenched in his fist, and put a quick slicing-end to her plea for help. She lowered her voice to a panicked whisper and listened for footfalls on the cellar stairs.
"Maybe he wasn't in the basement the when the officer's checked," she whispered, "or maybe he was hiding... behind the furnace perhaps... or came in through a window after they left."
Rose envisioned the dispatched running a hand through his hair and rolling his eyes like the officers had done. "Okay, Mrs. Campbell," he whispered as though defeated, "I'll send someone out as soon as I can."
"But when will that be?" she demanded, refusing to be pacified like a three year old while a maniac moved stealthily one story below.
"Not sure, Ma'am," his voice held an edge of impatience. "Lot's of problems tonight due to the storm. Our officers are pretty busy. Maybe you could call a neighbor? Someone to sit with you a while?"
"Sir, I am not a child! I don't need a baby-sitter! I need you to come and arrest this killer!"
There was a long pause followed by a sigh. "Okay Mrs. Campbell. I'll send someone right over."
"Please hurry."
"Will do. Bye Ma'am."
Rose replaced the phone in its cradle, severing her lifeline, and trembled at the emptiness of the house. Amidst the roar of the storm a blanket of loneliness encased her, tickling the hairs on the nap of her neck.
A jolt of lightning crackled nearby, its brilliance exploding the pitch beyond the window. The lights flickered, plunging her into darkness, and Rose dug her nails deeply into the fabric of the chair, awaiting the restoration of power. The lights fluttered, fighting to stay alight as the storms fury roared directly overhead, rattling the china cups in the dining room hutch. The lights remained at half strength, their pale yellow light casting deep shadows in the corners, hiding nightmarish-beings that only Rose's mind could fathom.
The phone echoed loudly in the stillness, spreading a fiery spark through Rose's spine. She lunged for it, retained a death grip on the receiver, and fought a maddening terror threatening to paralyze her vocal cords.
"Rose? Rose, are you there?" Her husband's voice wafted ghostly and wonderfully through the earpiece.
"Yes," Rose rasped through her dry mouth. "Jimmy, please come home right away."
"What's wrong Rosie?"
"He's in the house, Jimmy... a man with a knife is in the cellar. The police won't do anything about it." She kept her voice low to prevent anyone but Jimmy from hearing her.
There was a silence at his end and Rose didn't like the sound of it. She saw her husband's mind working, the gears turning, preparing to render the same old speech about her imagination running away with her.
"Now Rose..." he began in his irritating fatherly tone.
"Don't Rose me!" Her voice shook with anger and panic.
"But Rose... we've been through this time and time again," Jimmy said, his voice saturated with feigned patience. "You get yourself all worked up for nothing... scaring yourself half silly. I have to work late sometimes. You know that. Why don't you let me get you a dog to keep you company."
"Dog's go crazy... and they can be poisoned, you know. What good is a dead dog when there's a killer in the house?"
"Okay Rosie, okay. Maybe I can knock off a little early tonight, but we're going to have a talk about this."
"Thank you, Jimmy. Please hurry."
"See you in a little while."
The lights were burning at less strength than before and Rose felt the shadows creeping in on her. She pushed her shaking form from the chair and tiptoed into the kitchen, relieved that Jimmy would be home soon. She hadn't heard any more thuds from the basement. Had she imagined them? She did have an active imagination.
Creeping past the closed cellar door Rose opened a kitchen drawer, removed a box of waxed candles and pushed two of them into their candlestick holders. A wooden match flared and breathed life to the wicks, pushing the shadows back a few more inches. She decided to have a cup of tea after all and set the kettle on the gas stove.
The thump came from behind her, on the other side of the cellar door, and Rose spun around, her heart quickening with each beat. She stumbled backwards and pressed against the kitchen counter, never taking her eyes from the doorknob.
Thump.
Thump.
The cellar door was closed, but not latched, and something pushed it outward with each strike, revealing two fiery globes of light twinkling in the darkness. The Thing clawed at the door, hissing at its inability to enter the kitchen.
Rose clamped a hand over her mouth, fearful that a scream, however slight, would squeeze the last bit of breathable air from her lungs. Spinning towards the counter she ran her hands across its surface groping for anything she might use as a weapon. Nothing. She pulled at the knob on the silverware drawer and sent the contents crashing to the floor. Fumbling through the mess Rose felt the solid wooden handle of her carving knife and clenched it firmly in her fist.
Thunder and hail rocked the foundation of the house as another bolt of lightning crackled over her head, illuminating the kitchen just as the cellar door burst open. The creature with the bright eyes lunged through the opening, squatted on its haunches and stared at Rose, whose weapon was poised and readied.
Rose halted and squinted quizzically at the creature, its tail wagging lazily across the linoleum.
"You're are cat!" she shouted, her veins pounding with coursing blood. She tossed the carving knife to the floor and grabbed handfuls of her hair, pushing the escaping sanity back into her frightened mind. It's just a stupid little cat. Liquid laughter, bubbling up from her belly, eased her frightful state, soothing her frazzled nerves.
The short-hared gray licked its paws, oblivious to Rose's state of mind, and then raked the moistened paws over its face.
"Just a cat," Rose whispered again as kneeled by its side and ruffled its fur with her trembling hand. "Where did you come from, you little poop. You scared me half to death."
Arching its back against her hand the cat eagerly accepted the stroking, and rubbed against Rose's thigh.
"You must be hungry, little fellow? How about a bowl of warm milk, hmm?"
She rose to her feet and opened the refrigerator door.
"Just a cat indeed," the man whispered from the shadows of the cellar. Candlelight glinted off the butcher knife in his fist.
The End
