shortstory

The Tempest’s Tower 1: Vengeance

Cara learned to keep the light off in the tower. She preferred the anonymity that only the shadows could provide. She enjoyed watching them play, imagining that she was part of it. However, when they saw her watching them, the other kids would run out of sight, usually screaming. They were right to be afraid of her. She WAS a monster. Still, she treasured the memory of her day with Ryan and the others. For a few short hours, before everything went straight to hell, she was just like everybody else. It was both the best and the worst day of her life.

***************

The dank stench of the leaky, mold filled house was stifling. In the ten short years of her life, she had never smelled anything quite like it. They had lived in heaps suffering a greater degree of decay, but none of them reeked like this one did. While her parents fought loudly over which box belonged in which room, Cara slipped out in search of fresh air. She wandered down the sidewalk to explore her new surroundings.

She could just see over the top of the brick fence that encased her new neighbor’s home. The house on the other side was just as old as hers, but it had been well maintained through the years. Crumbling slabs in the barricade had been meticulously patched. The grass on the other side of the wrought iron gate was plush like blades of deep green pillows. Her fingers traced the mortared crevice between layers of brick as she turned the corner. That’s where she saw him playing on the swing set behind his immaculate home.

“He must be around my age,” she thought. She smiled unconsciously as she watched him frolic about his expansive yard.

“Hey, who are you?” the boy asked when he noticed her lingering outside his fence. “Are you moving next door?”

She nodded as she replied, “I’m Cara.”

He smiled broadly in response. “I’m Ryan. You can play too if you want. Go around, come through the gate.”

She did not hesitate to join the boy. She removed her shoes to feel the tickle of the soft lawn beneath her feet. Ryan quickly removed his shoes as well. As they ran barefoot through the yard occasionally succumbing to raucous fits of laughter, Cara felt normal for the first time in her life. Throughout the day other children joined them as well, all choosing to liberate themselves of their shoes as they played. Cara was impressed by how far Robby could kick a ball shoeless. She watched in awe as Lissa twirled like a ballerina on the tips of her bare toes. She envied Allie’s perfectly manicured nails. Above all else, she cherished the moment when Ryan took her hand during a game of hide and seek and whispered, “Follow me.” He hid them both so well that Allie gave up and threatened to go home if they didn’t come out.

Time seemed to pass in a flash and Cara panicked when she noticed how far the sun had traveled across the sky. She bolted to the location where she left her shoes earlier, but they were missing. “Oh no,” she thought, “I can’t go home without my shoes! Dad will kill me!”

The trees began to rustle as the wind gusted suddenly. “No, please don’t let this happen now. I don’t want them to find out,” she mumbled to herself as she nervously watched branches bend and sway.

Fighting back tears, Cara turned to the others and begged, “Have you seen my shoes? Please, I’m late. I need to find my shoes.”

The increasingly violent winds prompted Robby’s mother to beckon him inside. “Sorry, Cara!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’d help you look but I have to go.” He ran down the adjacent alley and disappeared into a yard on the opposite side of the block.

Seeing the desperation in her eyes, Ryan immediately offered to help. The duo scoured the yard but to no avail. As Cara’s despair grew, the skies grew more ominous. While they searched, Lissa & Allie sat on the porch, whispering and giggling. Noticing their antics, Ryan questioned them, “Do you know where Cara’s shoes are?”

“Oh, are Cara’s shoes missing? Why didn’t you say something?” Allie asked deviously, choking back a chuckle. “Lissa, do you know where Cara’s shoes are?” she asked sarcastically.

Lissa looked at Cara and simply shrugged, reducing the two girls to laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Cara protested. “I could get in big trouble. Give me my shoes back!” Sizeable raindrops joined the whipping winds as tears slipped past the rims of Cara’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry little baby,” Allie teased. “Your shoes are just hiding from you.”

Cara did not understand the clue, but Ryan did. He immediately retreated to their earlier hiding spot while Cara confronted the girls.

“Why are you being so mean?” she demanded. She had completely lost control of the tears which now flowed freely down her face. Simultaneously the sky released its bounty upon them.

Allie and Lissa ignored her question. They were scrambling to collect their things so they could seek shelter from the rain. As they started their sprint across Ryan’s yard, Cara stomped her foot, threw her fists toward the ground, and bellowed at them, “You come back here!”

Her bark was accompanied by a brilliant flash, immediately followed by a deafening blast of thunder. The lightning that lit up the sky struck the thick arm of a nearby white oak tree. The girls stood frozen, wailing in terror. Ryan reemerged to push them clear of the massive branch before it came crashing directly upon them. A limb clipped Ryan from behind, and knocked him forcibly to the ground where he lay motionless.

“Ryan!” Lissa cried.

“You freak! You did this!” Allie accused, pointing directly at Cara.

“Oh God, what have I done?” Cara asked herself quietly. As her anger turned to dismay, the rain responded in kind, becoming less powerful. She stood perfectly still whispering “I’m so sorry” until she heard her father shouting her name.

Ryan was moaning and beginning to cry by the time Cara’s father made his way into the yard. Ryan’s mother had already called 9-1-1 and was gently tending to her wounded son.

Chris, Cara’s father, grabbed her arm fiercely. “Did you do this?” He demanded sharply.

Ryan’s mother gave Chris a confused look. “It was an accident. Lightning struck that tree.” She gestured toward the still smoldering old oak.

“Cara MADE it happen!” Allie insisted. “She tried to kill us!”

“Don’t be silly,” Ryan’s mother responded. “Nobody controls the weather.”

“She does!” Lissa argued.

“Let’s get out of here,” Allie said to Lissa. “You’re a monster!” She spat back at Cara as they climbed over the wall, “You can’t play with us anymore. Stay away!”

With Ryan now clinging to her, his mother looked at Cara, “Kids will be kids, dear. Accidents happen. It wasn’t your fault. We will get Ryan looked at. He will be fine.” She then handed Cara her shoes.

“Yeah, accidents happen,” Chris scoffed. “Unfortunately they seem to follow my kid wherever she goes. I’m very sorry for what happened today. She shouldn’t have been here.”

Before Ryan or his mother could respond, Chris dragged Cara savagely by the arm down the sidewalk and out of sight.

“Daddy, you’re hurting me!” Cara fought against his grasp. She knew by this point in the day he had been drinking for hours. She was angry at herself for losing track of the time. She should have been in her room, quietly staying out of sight, before he was drunk. She was afraid of the punishment inevitably forthcoming. As she struggled, the winds once again began to swirl around them.

When they arrived at their wretched new home, Chris shoved Cara toward the cement stairs leading to the back door. She stumbled and landed hard on the cracked and jagged edges of the concrete. She began to sob and begged her father, “I am so sorry about what I did. Please don’t hurt me. I like Ryan. I didn’t mean to do it!” The light rain transitioned back to a torrential downpour suddenly.

“Stop it!” Chris demanded. “No more of this. Stop this rain right now or I will beat the evil out of you if I have to kill you to do it. I have had enough!”

“I can’t Daddy! I don’t know how to stop it!” Cara’s voice shook with fear. She knew he meant what he said. She knew that he secretly wanted to end her life the moment he realized that her emotions somehow had an impact on the weather. Even as an infant, when she would wail, it would rain. When she was not getting proper nutrition because her drunken parents forgot to tend to her needs, dangerous, dry heat would follow. When she became angry or fearful, all hell would break loose, just like it did today.

“I do,” he replied as he picked her scraped body up off the stairs and shoved her back down again, harder this time. Her head struck an edge, leaving her with a gash on the back of her skull. She reached back instinctively and could feel the warm, moist sensation of her own blood against her fingertips. Her eyes narrowed into slits as her fear turned burning hatred for her father. She was ready for him the next time he pounced. She rolled clear before he could seize her. Off balance, he himself landed against the rickety steps.

Cara clenched her fists, braced herself and waited for his next attack. However, his level of intoxication caused him to be slow to regain his footing. By now, the atmosphere was deep black and clouds raced across the sky. Rain pounded relentlessly upon them. The winds whipped and whirled from every direction. Lightning began to flash in the distance and rolls of thunder filled the air. Cara’s mother, Susan, opened the door. “Cara! Stop! Get in this house right now before you kill someone! Cara, please!” she begged.

Initially Cara complied and started toward the door. However, as she neared her father he lunged at her, trying to knock her off her feet. Cara dodged his offensive. She squared her shoulders, planted her feet, and readied herself for battle.

“Chris! No!” Susan tried to distract her husband from his objective. His level of intoxication, coupled with his rage, deafened him to her pleas.

The skies turned an apocalyptic shade. The ferocious wind picked small objects off the ground and tossed them into a cyclone. Lightning radiated across the sky. The constant roar of thunder filled the air. Cara stood unmoved. The gales passed right through her. Her father attempted to reach her, but the wall of swirling air rebuffed his advance.

“Don’t come any closer.” Cara warned her father. Never before had she felt in control of her curse, but today power surged through her. For a moment, she was unafraid of her own abilities. As a matter of fact, she finally understood them for what they were, an exceptional defense mechanism.

“You little brat! I’m going to snap your neck when I get my hands on you.” Chris threatened.

“Keep your hands off her!” Susan charged wildly toward her husband. “I’ll kill you before I let you touch her again!” she cautioned.

Chris laughed at his wife’s threat. He swung his fist mightily as she approached. He landed his punch directly beneath her jaw. Susan’s unconscious body jolted backward. She landed in a heap on the ground.

“Mommy!” Cara shrieked. Simultaneously, a brilliant bolt cast the light of day onto the night. Cara resembled a lightning rod as she drew power from the direct strike. An immediate clap of thunder rattled the windows of all nearby homes and started car alarms blaring.

Chris stood transfixed as he watched his daughter absorb every volt of electricity. Her veins were illuminated from within her body. They glowed through her flesh like the strings of a spider’s web. Her cobalt eyes were replaced with a radiant blue luminescence. Each strand of Cara’s hair crackled and thrashed like a downed power line.

Voltaic energy consumed the girl. She was no longer a scared child. The charge of the lightning strike temporarily sapped away her humanity. She glared at the man she called father. He cowered before her lustrous magnificence. She smiled wickedly as she contemplated her next move.

“Cara, little one, please. It’s Daddy. C’mon baby, please. I’ll never hurt you or your Mom again, I promise. Please don’t hurt me, doll” Chris pathetically begged.

Through her newfound power, she could feel no empathy for this cowardly villain. He needed to be destroyed. A glance at her mother’s still motionless body confirmed what she already knew. With him alive, they would never be safe.

“Goodbye, Daddy,” she muttered faintly before she focused the capacity of her energy on him. He didn’t even have the chance to beg her again for his life before she struck. She dialed up every volt from her tiny frame and forced it into a concentrated pool of snapping electricity in the palm of her hand. She raised her arm, aimed directly at her father’s heart, and fired a beam that hit its mark directly. Chris was dead before his corpse hit the dirt.

Instantly the wind subsided, and torrential rain became soft drizzle. Lightning faded away, and thunder fell silent. Black clouds broke apart and fissures of light trickled through. The resulting rainbow seemed to start at Cara’s feet. Her mother sat up, still dazed. She looked up at her daughter, basking in the brilliant shades of the color spectrum. She glanced over to see her husband’s remains lying nearby. His shirt was burned. The skin beneath bloomed with lightning flowers.

“He was struck by lightning.” Cara declared before she retreated into the house.

From inside, Cara watched Susan make her way toward Chris’ body. She knelt over him, weeping, until police arrived and pulled her away. The official cause of his death was determined to be cardiac arrest. Though that exonerated her in the eyes of the law, Cara knew her mother didn’t need to witness the events of that day to know her daughter was a killer.

***************

Cara shook off the memories of that horrific night 2 years ago. She returned her attention to the kids outside. With her mind distracted, she had not noticed that Ryan now stood alongside them. He was getting tall. No longer did he have the plump cheeks of a little boy. His jaw was square and defined. His soft blond locks no longer flowed loosely. Instead his hair was cropped short and carefully styled. She couldn’t see his sparkling green eyes from where she sat, but she suspected that they may be the only feature on him that remained unchanged since that fateful night.

She was giddy to see him now. His family still lived in the same house next door, but like many others in the neighborhood, he typically chose a route that would not bring him past The Tempest’s tower. Cara had not left the house since Chris’ death. However, her mother overheard many whispers and rumors about the crazed little girl that killed her own father. She was so often spotted gazing out from behind the windows of her home’s turret room, the spot was dubbed “The Tempest’s Tower” by locals.

Ryan looked grown up now. He was becoming so handsome. Cara beamed as she watched him laugh with his friends. She gave up on wishing she could talk to him again long ago. It was enough now just to watch him, to know that he was well, to know that he was happy. She would never again risk his life by getting too close to him. The joy of seeing Ryan was immediately dampened when she saw Lissa and Allie approaching. She saw them often, too often. They frequently lingered on the sidewalk around her home, looking up toward the tower and taunting Cara.

Allie walked directly to Ryan. He looked at her and grinned. The air was knocked from Cara’s lungs when he reached down and took Allie’s hand in his. For the first time since the night she took her father’s life, she could feel herself spinning out of control.

The soft wisps of white clouds began to swirl and darken. As the wind churned, the sky became immediately overcast. The unease in Ryan’s face was apparent as he noticed the twirling sky. He glanced toward the tower and released Allie’s hand. Allie glared at Cara’s windows and hooked her arm in Ryan’s, leaning close as if she was asking him to protect her.

Cara struggled to reign in her emotions. As a defiant tear snuck past her defenses, the rain began to fall…

Wait! There’s more! Read The Tempest’s Tower 2: New Beginning

Photography: http://fav.me/d8wzol4

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The 7 Deadly Sins ~ Day 2, Greed

I was not planning a short story for today, but that’s what is happening anyway. When you are jolted out of sleep at 3:28am to the sound of 5 quick gunshots, the brain juices start flowing, even if you’d rather fall back to sleep. We got up and checked our surveillance cameras. While the shots were certainly nearby, they weren’t close enough for us to capture any footage of what happened. For a long period of time after that I just laid there, thinking up scenarios that could result in middle of the night gunfire in a residential neighborhood…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m telling you, there is a fortune in there.” Jesse whispered from his crouched position in the bushes outside of Mr. Butler’s home. “I saw where he kept it when he paid me to mow the lawn yesterday. Follow me.”

Thomas was skeptical. His older brother was always getting him into trouble. At just 17 years old, Jesse had already been in and out of juvenile detention centers more times than Thomas could count. He did not wish to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but he feared his brother. Jesse was 4 years older and had a temper to compliment his penchant for stealing.

Besides, Mr. Butler certainly did not life a lavish life. His home was old and dilapidated. He didn’t own a car. Jesse & Thomas’ mother often drove Mr. Butler to the store and to his appointments. Even if there was an actual treasure in there, he couldn’t imagine it was enough to justify what they were about to do. “Jesse, c’mon, lets just go home. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“He’s an old man, Thomas. Nothing is going to happen you little chicken.” Jesse teased. With that he crept around the corner of the home, still concealed by the thick shrubbery surrounding the house on 3 sides. Jesse sighed and reluctantly followed.

The rustling of leaves, the snapping of twigs beneath his feet, and his own heartbeat were the only things Thomas could hear as he followed his brother closely. It felt like a bad dream. Thomas was convinced that he would wake up, warm and snug in his own bed, at any moment.

“There! An open window.” Jesse reported. “Come here. I’ll give you a lift.”

“I’m not going in first!” Thomas objected.

“God you baby, you have to go in first. You can’t reach that window without help.”

Reluctantly Thomas conceded to his brother’s reasoning. He put his right shoe into his brother’s cupped hands and allowed himself to be hoisted up to the window. He quietly opened it wider and shimmied his way through. Once inside he turned and whispered nervously to Jesse, “Ok, your turn.”

“Relax, I’m coming. Is the coast clear?”

“I don’t know. I’m in the bathroom. The door is shut.” Thomas replied.

“Well open the door and check, idiot.” Jesse insisted.

Thomas felt like he could cry. He didn’t want to be there. His eyes began to well with tears.

“Thomas! IS THE COAST CLEAR?” By this time Jesse was almost through the window. Thomas knew better than to ignore his brother’s orders. He also knew not to let his brother see him cry. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and pushed the bathroom door open…

Eugene Butler was born during The Great Depression. A blue-collar man, he never learned to trust financial institutions with his hard-earned income. He did things the way his father did things. He kept his cash where he could see it; at home, locked in a vault. After witnessing a number of times what the desperate were willing to do for cash, he obtained a Glock .9mm to defend his keep.

Eugene lamented his decision to allow that hoodlum, Jesse, to see his hidden stash. It frustrated him that he suffered such a lapse in judgment. That kid was a neighborhood plague. His mother was a kind woman, but worked long hours outside the home. She could not keep tabs on the boy. Eugene thought by paying the kid to do odd jobs he could deter Jesse from finding further trouble. Unfortunately, the effect had been the opposite. The more money Jesse made, the greater his desire for material possessions became.

Eugene’s dissatisfaction with himself kept him awake most of the night. It was almost 3:30am when he got up to warm himself a glass of milk. He was in the kitchen when he heard the sounds of whispers in the adjacent bathroom. He moved swiftly and quietly. Without flipping on a light or making a sound, Eugene retrieved his Glock and returned to the kitchen. He stood in the darkness and waited.

Eugene lingered in the shadows holding his breath as the bathroom door slowly opened. He already regretted what he had to do. Jesse was dangerous. Not only that but he had at least 1 accomplice with him. Eugene was old. He could no longer defend himself with his bare hands. The gun shook in his trembling hands. Damn it, kid. Why did you have to prove me right this time? Eugene thought.

The door opened completely. Eugene aimed in the direction of the activity and squeezed the trigger.

POP-POP-POP-POP-POP

As soon as Eugene heard the thud of a body hitting the floor, he turned on a light. He was mortified by what he saw. He immediately fled to call 9-1-1. Jesse began to wail.

“Thomas! Thomas!! No, no, no, no, Thomas, no,” Jesse pled as he cradled his brother’s head in his lap.

The 13-year-old began to cry. “Jesse, please can we go home now?” Thomas asked through gasped breaths. His little body then seized and began to shake. A few long seconds later, he was gone.

Jesse sat there, covered in blood, clutching his little brother’s body until police arrived. He readily offered his wrists to the officers without making eye contact. He continued to stare at his only sibling, lying there motionless. His desire to undo what he had put into motion consumed him. He longed to bring his brother back. As they placed handcuffs on him, Jesse finally fully understood what his mother had always told him, “He who is greedy is always in want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remember, if you have a Greed post to share, comment on this post with a link so we can check it out.

Writing Prompt: 7 Deadly Sins

Day 1 ~ Sloth

Outstanding photo “Seven_Deadly_Sins__Greed” by the very talented stay_young on DeviantArt.com.

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Nightmare

SFoxWriting’s Alphabet Challenge ~ “N”

I stood beneath the attic door and drew a breath of determination. I was securely armed with a mask and gloves. I wielded both a broom and a bucket as weapons. Still I hesitated. In all of the years I’d lived in this house, I’d never entered the attic, much less cleaned it. Alas, the man coming tomorrow needed to get into that space. I had no choice but to survey the horrors that lie in wait for him. I felt compelled to clear the attic of spiders and cobwebs, rid it of dust and, heaven forbid, dead rodents, for his sake.

As I mustered the courage to climb the ladder I told myself, “It’s a fair exchange. Frigid air pours from the ceiling into our bedrooms year round. I will clean the attic. He will fix that goddamn hole.”

“What the hell?” My bucket and broom crashed to the floor below. Shock claimed me as I entered what should have been the space directly beneath my roof. It turned out, however, to be a broad corridor turned closet. It was unfinished, so racks, shelves and mirrors were mounted directly upon the skeleton of my home. Vintage garments, fine accessories, classic coats and a myriad of shoes decorated nearly every empty spot in this room. Not only that, but the space was pristine, untouched for decades and completely immaculate. It was eerie and magnificent at the same time. My thoughts swirled as my brain struggled to make sense of my surroundings.

“Of course,” I laughed, “the old man built all sorts of private rooms in the basement. His wife must have kept her secrets up here.” It made sense. The house was over a hundred years old. The couple that lived and died here previously was eccentric to say the least. Still I was in awe of the cache that had been kept hidden from me, just yards from where I lay my head at night. I removed my mask and gloves and began taking inventory of my newly found treasures.

“It is freezing in here,” I whispered through chattering teeth. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t be there. Quite honestly, a smarter woman probably would have left immediately.

“So many discoveries remain. Just a few more minutes…”, I thought. Upon a hook, at the other end of this glorious wardrobe, I spotted a coat hanging all alone, the showcase piece in a collection of old apparel. Stupidly, I smiled as though it was fate. “Perfect, I’ll throw that on while I poke around a while longer,” I decided.

I admired my find. It was in flawless condition and of remarkable quality too. The lining was a delicate silk, splendidly still in tact. Not a defect could be found on the textured ivory exterior. The deep brown fur collar was still as soft and sleek as I imagined it was when it was new. However, as I donned my new threads, something felt peculiar. It was as though I was resting fear squarely upon my shoulders. I literally caught my breath as a cold wall of air moved through me. Before I could muster the sense enough to run, light through a horizontal crack between the wall and the floor caught my attention.

“This must be where that cold air is coming from,” I deducted as I examined the gap closely. After some investigation I realized this was not a crack but the outline of a hidden doorway. My good sense lost the war with my intense curiosity at this point. With a little effort I managed to pry it open just enough to reveal a poorly lit, narrow passage between the walls. I poked my head inside for a preview of the next phase of my adventure. Icy air slapped my face like a bitter winter blast.

Still wearing that cloak of horror, I shuffled slowly within the restricted confines of my freezing space. Inside the blackness, fissures of light filtered in softly but provided little immediate insight into my environment. It took several moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark. As the scene around me unfolded, panic rose in my chest. Man made catacombs extended throughout my house. Anyone aware of their existence could have easily navigated my home completely undetected. All at once my gut screamed, “run away now!” while my brain insisted, “you must proceed.”

I ignored my flight instinct. Instead I focused on the heaviest concentration of light that seeped into the darkness. I forced my feet in its direction. As I neared my reluctant destination, anxiety tightened its grip. It felt as though the topcoat of terror had shrunk a size. As I unsuccessfully fumbled with the buttons, I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched.

“Come on! No. I am being ridiculous. There is an explanation for all of this.” I tried to laugh it off but noted that the air temperature continued to drop around me. I convinced myself that I left the cape of consternation on because of the chill, and not because I just couldn’t get it off.

Suddenly an unseen force pulled me rapidly toward the glow. I could feel it tug on my overcoat but I don’t think either of my feet ever parted with the ground. It was like my environs fast forwarded around me. They didn’t stop until I was standing before a heavy door with a glass handle. I trembled in dismay as a single tear escaped my eye.

Finally, all of my senses agreed that it was time to flee. Unfortunately, it was too late. I could turn and look behind me but I could not compel my own legs to move in any direction except forward. Whatever specter had brought me there, had no intention of allowing me to leave now. Hoping to find an escape on the other side of this entrance, I reached for the handle. Trepidation gave way to tranquility as the door revealed a small set of stairs that culminated in an inviting luminescence at the top. Again I found myself advancing through no will of my own.

I turned the corner at the top of the stairs. I had to rub my eyes to be sure of what I was witnessing. I was not prepared for the impact of what awaited me there. I was astounded by the mysteries that my own home had kept hidden from me for the past decade and a half. I stood there in a full kitchen. It was likely last decorated in the late 50s, perhaps early 60s. It should have been held together by cobwebs after so much time but it was perfectly tidy. Natural light flooded the area, bouncing off polished surfaces. Most notably, there was no crisp air current; it was warm.

I made my way toward the window that I had only ever seen from the outside of my home. A panoramic view of the city sprawled out before me. It was utterly breathtaking. As I absorbed the impressive landscape, I once again tried to shed that trench coat. My efforts were short lived as the sound of canned laughter penetrated my ears.

“Is that a TV?” I wondered aloud. I crossed the room, past the antique formica table toward yet another closed door. I did not think to hesitate until I touched the knob. Ice cold.

“Well, if there has been a television set on day and night since I moved in, it’s high time I turned it off.” It didn’t occur to me that perhaps now wasn’t the time to get conservative about energy usage. Instead I threw open the door to find a very old black and white set on and in perfect working order. The monitor sat upon its speaker, which was supported by four small short wooden legs. In each corner above the screen was a knob. I hadn’t seen a TV this old since I had thumbed through a dusty photo album at my grandmother’s house.

I moved toward the television but the closer I got to it, the further away it seemed to be. It was as though this gadget took two steps backward with each step I took forward. I could feel the fear creeping in again. New movement in my peripheral vision paralyzed me. My eyes widened with dread. Slowly I turned my head in the direction of this rogue action. The empty rocking chair swayed violently back and forth.

“SHIT!” I meant to yell, but merely choked on the word instead. There was, in fact, someone else here. I was most certainly not alone.

“Go, Carrie, RUN!” I begged myself, “go NOW!” I tried to scream for help but my voice failed me.

The frock of fright contracted until I could barely breathe. I desperately ripped at the buttons and fought against its clutches. The more I struggled, the more the coat constricted. Cold air spun like a cyclone around me, pummeling my face and stealing the breath from my lungs. Objects in the room were lifted from the floor and torn from the walls. They swirled about rapidly, obliterating one another as they crashed. Collisions sent splinters like wooden nails into the twister. The wind continued to churn, turning the debris into speeding bullets that whizzed past my head.

I dropped to my knees to avoid being wasted by shrapnel. I intended to fight until I drew my last breath but that time was rapidly approaching. My invisible assailant showed no signs of mercy. The deep brown pelt around my neck began to strangle me. Using what was left of my oxygen to wail would be a waste. No one would hear me up here, even if I could force my voice to make sound.

I fell to my side. My fingernails dug into the flesh of my neck as I made a final attempt to get my hands under the pelt of my collar. I flailed hopelessly and attempted to tear it away from my neck. Hot tears stained my skin as I whimpered silently. It was no use. I was going to die.

“NO!” In my dream I refused my fate one last time. “NO!” again I howled. This time my voice was strong and true. So loud actually that it woke me from sleep with a start. I attempted to sit up in bed and regain my bearings. However, I was encased in my own bed sheets. From the tips of my toes to the base of my chin, I was wrapped like a mummy. If I hadn’t still been so utterly afraid from that vision, I might have actually laughed at myself.

************

As I have mentioned in earlier posts, my dream world is a vivid, memorable, ethereal, but sometimes terrifying place. My brain doesn’t stop writing stories just because I am asleep. So, for the letter “N”, I chose to write about the first I remember having in a series of haunted nightmares. I have not attempted to go into the attic since this dream, despite the fact that it does actually spill cold air into our bedroom.

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Cooper the Cat

Steven Fox’s Alphabet Challenge, Day 3 ~ The letter “C” is easy. My own name begins with “C”. Many of my favorite things in life begin with this letter: candy, chocolate, cookies, cupcakes, comedy, comfort, cottage, cuisine, cats. The most difficult part of today’s entry was narrowing down the subject. Because Cooper, the cat, changed my life in a wonderful way, Cooper wins. If cats had a voice, I think Cooper’s story would go something like this…

**********

The cold or the abuse? Cooper pondered as she watched life unfold outside through a closed window. Technically the cold IS abuse, though probably not as severe as the abuse I’ve suffered at His hands. I do love the human children. I don’t wish to leave them. However, I am beginning to fear them too. They have learned too much from the monster they call Dad.

Cooper’s decision was made. She would leave. She was no stranger to the outside world. She enjoyed hunting for food and fighting for fun. Predators that stalked her in the cover of night were the only reason she ever returned to His home, to His abuse. She would find a safe haven, something to protect her from cold and shelter her from darkness.

It didn’t take long for one of those unsupervised children to dash from the house, leaving the door wide open. Casually Cooper made her final escape, or so she thought…

It’s unseasonably warm, Cooper noted. It was a good thing too. The days were getting longer, but the nights were still brutal. Her coat had already begun to molt for the season. She needed time to adjust to the climate. She would use the warmth of the day to first find a place to rest. Her good fortune continued when, right across the street, she discovered a seemingly abandoned garage with a broken window. Purr-fect, she concluded.

Upon sneaking through the damaged window, Cooper discovered a litany of supplies. This garage may have been dilapidated but it certainly wasn’t abandoned. Less than ideal, still it would do nicely. She explored boxes until she found one filled with old blankets and children’s clothes. She had never curled up in a more comfortable bed. Cooper drifted off that night pleased with herself. She was lonely but comfortable, hungry but safe. Tomorrow she would hunt.

After a long slumber, free of drunken yelling, crying children, unprovoked kicking or tail pulling, Cooper arose with a stretch. She climbed into the window sill to sit briefly and absorb the morning sun. A rumble in Cooper’s stomach interrupted her meditation. She turned to set out on her mission for food when she realized she was being watched. In the distance she saw a human female holding a small black machine over her eye. Occasionally the human would push a button and the machine would click. Interesting. Cooper knew adult humans. They are mean. They are unpredictable. They have food. Engaging this human was a future option. However, for now Cooper wished to pursue her newfound freedom. She descended from the window sill, bolted through the back fence, and disappeared down an alley in search of food.

Cooper spent much of the day cautiously surveying her new surroundings. There were many dangers. She needed to learn her escape routes. The cats native to these streets did not welcome her. Quite the opposite, they considered her an intruder. More than once she stalked her prey only to be run off by a flailing human before she could pounce. Massive, loud boxes of metal in all colors and sizes tore down busy streets on large rolling circles. She was horrified by the number of corpses she encountered, the victims of those metal monsters.

The sun is beginning to set, she observed. It’s time to return to safety.

As Cooper crept through the yard she witnessed the human female exiting the garage. Oh no, she panicked, where do I go if it’s no longer safe?

She waited in the shadows long after the human disappeared. She proceeded cautiously through the window and was relieved to find herself alone there. What is that smell?

Cooper made her way toward the door and realized that the human had left two bowls behind. Food and water. She was beginning to like this human. Cooper huddled in and ate every crumb. When she was done she yawned and stretched, time for a nap. That food would certainly hold her over until she could hunt again later.

Eating food left by the human at night and soaking up the sun under the human’s watchful eye in the morning became staples in Cooper’s new routine. That is, at least, until He returned. One morning after basking in the glorious sunlight, Cooper began down the path toward the gate. She had just emerged from beneath the fence when she was viciously grabbed by the neck. NO! Cooper fought against His grasp. Let let me go! She hissed and bit. She swiped and slashed. They were right outside the human female’s window. Make more noise. She began to howl. As He carried Cooper away by her neck she heard it, BANG BANG BANG. The human was pounding on the window.

“Hey! You let him go! Put him down! Don’t carry him like that!” But He ignored the human’s pleas. He never turned. He never slowed. He scurried away from the concerned human like the cockroach He was.

He charged through the door and launched Cooper across the room. She scampered away and hid in the dark corner under His bed. She found comfort in the memory of her shortlived freedom. She thought back to the dismay in the female human’s voice as she plead with Him to release Cooper. Wait. Did that human say “him”? The human thinks I’m a boy. She was amused by this. The human mistook Cooper’s tough resourcefulness for masculinity. A female of any species should know better than to make such assumptions. I will befriend her, let her get to know me. I just need to get out of here again.

It would take longer than expected to find the opportunity to execute another breakout. The children were gone now. Cooper had no idea where they went. Their belongings were untouched, but they were absent, no longer there to leave doors wide open. He had become cautious about closing the door. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She would have to be aggressive. She waited crouched by the door. As soon as this door opens, I run.

Soon He returned home in a stupor. She executed her plan flawlessly. His altered state prevented Him from recapturing her this time. She quickly crossed the street, escaped the streetlight, and disappeared into blackness. She remained concealed for a short time until she heard voices. Humans? She wondered. She approached the yard with caution. Two of them. It’s a risk. I want to return to the garage but I need a better place to hide from Him, especially now… She let out a faint meow.

The humans turned to her but did not approach. Cooper was relieved. The female knelt low and extended her hand. Cooper advanced with care. The humans waited patiently and the female coaxed Cooper along. When Cooper was within reach the female human gently caressed her head, scratched behind her ears, and stroked her back. She removed the collar that Cooper had worn since she was a kitten. He never once loosened it, even as Cooper grew. It had become a choking reminder of the mistreatment she’d endured. This human truly freed me. Cooper had never been around one so gentle and quiet. The male human opened the door and stepped aside, as if to welcome Cooper into their home. She wasted no time. She darted through the door and began to explore her surroundings.

I need a safe place, just in case. She found a bedroom empty except for a bed. She navigated the maze of boxes and books beneath it and discovered the perfect cove in which to hide.

“Where is he?” Cooper heard the male human ask. They still think I’m a boy. They will certainly be surprised by what I have in store for them.

For the most part the humans left Cooper to adjust to her environment. They seemed sensitive to her plight. Cooper liked that about them. Well, that and the food. She was so hungry all of the time now. She ate and slept the days away.

“He’s really filling out.” The male human called Brian once observed.

“I’m not sure he’s a he.” The female human called Carrie replied.

Oh you have no idea…

A couple of weeks passed before they caught on, “I was petting Cooper today and HER belly moved,” Carrie recounted to Brian.

“No way, really?!?” Brian was still in denial.

He approached where Cooper lay in a strip of sunlight on the floor. “You got something in there for us, Coop?” He sat next to her and lightly pet her side. With a stunned expression Brian exclaimed, “I felt it too! Cooper is totally pregnant!” Cooper laughed to herself and dozed back off to sleep.

“I think maybe four kittens” she heard Carrie say as she woke from her slumber.

“Yeah, three or four” Brian agreed.

The amusement just doesn’t stop with these two. Clearly these people have never had a litter of kittens. This should be fun.

Carrie did manage to a decent job on a birthing box. Pillows, blankets, privacy, yes this will do. The Sunday the kittens made their arrival Cooper did not want to leave Carrie’s side. She was uncomfortable and quite nervous. Carrie is comforting, though maybe a little too excited about MY babies. Regardless, she would shadow her human throughout the day. Eventually it became clear that it was time to leave Carrie and settle into her box.

I do wish they would stop looking in on me. Enjoying the show nosy humans? Cooper was irritated by the constant interruptions, particularly from the overly concerned Carrie. Though, as it would turn out, Carrie’s concern was justified. There were more than three or four babies, more than five or six even. Seven kittens were born and some so closely together that Cooper had little time to clear the sac from their faces and stimulate their breathing. A few had even become entangled within the blankets in the box somehow. When Carrie looked in on Cooper for the final time that night, she carefully sifted through the blankets, placing each kitten onto Cooper’s belly, so the new mommy could tend to them properly.

Seven ~ Ellington, Julius, Khan, Louis, Lola, Shojo and Voodoo. Three girls, four boys. This family who owned no cats just a few weeks ago now has eight of them. It’s a good thing they’re decent, for humans.

SIDE NOTE: When the kittens were old enough to wean themselves naturally we began the re-homing process. Louis went first to my youngest son’s best friend’s family. He is now “Levi”. Lola followed. She went to live with my cousin’s family. Unfortunately Lola ran off while out playing with her new puppy brother and was likely picked up by another family. 😦 Khan was a birthday gift to my niece. My oldest son kept Ellington. My daughter kept Shojo. My husband and I kept Julius and Voodoo. Cooper went deeper into witness protection. She now lives with dear friends and is allowed to roam their expansive property at her leisure. She also gets lots and lots of affection when she wants to be inside around her new humans. Each and every one is treasured and loved by their respective families. I get regular updates on all, except for Lola, obviously. I like to think she’s living it up with a great family too.

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The Apple

Ben Turner burst through the door, kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack and ran into the kitchen. As expected, a shiny red apple awaited him on the counter. Without word, he snatched the apple and climbed into a bar stool to enjoy it.

“Hungry today Benny?” Asked Grandma, as she took inventory of the contents of the kitchen. Ben smiled through his mouth full of apple and nodded excitedly.

He loved everything about having Grandma live at his house. Even getting her moved in last summer was a great adventure. Ben got to ride with Daddy in a big truck all the way to Grandma’s. He felt so grown-up as he helped carry boxes and possessions from her house to the truck. All the way back home he and Grandma sang and laughed.

On his first day of third grade, Ben came home to find the largest, most succulent red delicious apple sitting upon the counter. Grandma smiled and handed it to him. That day, and every day since, they would sit together as Ben finished his apple, happily discussing the events of the day. Mom and Dad were at work, so Grandma even helped Ben with his homework. He would never tell them, but Grandma was a much better teacher than his parents. She was warm and patient where they were usually hurried and flustered. Even when he struggled, Grandma would smile, pat his head, and slowly start over.

Homework wasn’t the only thing Grandma was the best at. Grandma always cooked the most divine meals. He appreciated Dad’s morning Eggo waffles. Mom’s packed lunches were certainly edible. Oh but dinner… Ben looked forward to devouring Grandma’s dinner time creation every single day.

“No homework today, Grandma!” Ben exclaimed as he wiped the sticky apple remnants from his face with the back of his hand. She grinned and shook her head. She motioned him toward the sink and turned the faucets to just the right temperature. He put his hands under the running water and allowed Grandma to gently wipe his face.

“Good”, Grandma replied, “I am making a special dinner tonight. I could use your help. Wash those hands up like I taught you.”

Getting to help Grandma in the kitchen was always a treat. She called him “the official kitchen taste tester” and let him sample all of the food before it was served. He scrubbed his hands as clean as a surgeon in preparation.

As they got to work, Ben wondered what was so special about meatloaf. Sure, Grandma’s was the best as far as meatloaf is concerned, but this certainly didn’t constitute a “special dinner”. His disappointment was quickly replaced with elation when he realized that they would also be baking a chocolate cake for dessert. Not only would he get to taste test the batter, but he’d also get to apply the frosting and lick the spatula. His Grandma was the best grandma.

Mom and Dad gushed over the luscious food that Ben and Grandma had made them. The cake was delectable and moist. The homemade frosting was a perfect balance of light, sweet, and chocolaty. Everyone ate until they were stuffed to capacity.

After dinner, while the adults cleaned up, Ben headed upstairs for his nightly bath. He wanted to hurry to allow Grandma enough time for a bedtime story. She was even better at storytelling than she was at cooking. Grandma didn’t even need a book. She made up plots that twisted and turned. Characters that became as real as life. Stories that would make them laugh and some that would make them cry. The more time she had, the better the story would get.

Grandma peeked into Ben’s room just as he had finished donning his pajamas. He climbed into bed and Grandma sat down to regal him with the story of “Super Bird”. Ben giggled at the title. Of course Grandma knew exactly how to give that bird life and suck Ben into her world of make-believe.

She told him of a little bird, smaller than all of the rest, who longed to be special. The other birds teased him relentlessly because of his minuscule stature. When he just couldn’t stand the bullying anymore, the little bird ran away from home. She painted a vivid picture of the bird’s travels and especially his destination, the circus. Ben’s eyes widened in wonderment as Grandma’s words portrayed a magical place, full of color and laughter, where the little bird was accepted and loved as the “World’s Smallest Bird”. Ben’s expression turned to concern as the little bird began to grow until he was no longer the smallest or unique. His concern turned to relief when the bird didn’t stop growing until he was the circus’ newest attraction, “Super Bird”.

By the time Grandma finished her story, Ben’s mind was full and his eyes were heavy. Before he drifted off to sleep, he told Grandma, “I am going to sleep now. I want to dream about Super Bird.” Grandma tucked him in tight, kissed his forehead, turned on the nightlight, and softly closed the door behind her.

The next day began like any other. Mom was up early to prepare lunches and leave for work. Dad made toaster waffles for breakfast. Grandma zipped Ben’s coat and helped him with his backpack before hurrying him out the door for his short walk to school.

During lunch that day, Ben began feeling ill. He wasn’t sure what was making him sick. He didn’t have a stuffy nose or a tummy ache. His body didn’t hurt and his head felt ok. He just didn’t feel right. That sensation would linger for the rest of his school day. At the final bell, Ben gathered his things and prepared for his walk home.

He exited through the front door and spotted Mommy in the parking lot near the sidewalk. She hadn’t picked him up from school since second grade. Why was she here now? As he got closer he realized that Mommy had been crying. Those around her rubbed her arm, placed a hand upon her back, and some hugged her. Ben didn’t know why, but his eyes began to well with tears. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached his mother. He looked up at her inquisitively and she responded with a tight hug. Mommy kneeled until she looked Ben directly in the eyes. Then she said something so impossible, so infuriating, so cruel… She said, “Ben, Grandma is gone. She left this world and moved on to the next. Baby, Grandma died today.”

“NO!” Ben howled as he shoved his way out of his mother’s embrace. “You’re lying!” She had to be! They just ate dinner together the night prior. Grandma’s bedtime story last night was one of the best yet. She was fine, she was better than fine! She just helped him get ready for school this morning. She wouldn’t leave Ben without saying goodbye. She couldn’t!

Once he escaped his mother’s grasp, he started to run. Each step landed quicker than the one before it. He heard his mother call for him, but this only gave him cause to run even faster. He wanted to be too far away to hear her lies. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks to his quivering chin as he ran toward home on a mission to end this heartless joke. Today when he burst through the door, he didn’t bother to kick off his shoes and he didn’t shed his backpack. He continued his uninterrupted sprint through the house until he reached the kitchen.

There the harsh truth became his reality. Ben gasped for breath as he stared in anguish at the empty spot upon the counter.

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