Read Online EQMM, May 2012 by Dell Magazine Authors - Free Book Online
Authors: Dell Magazine Authors
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from the world beyond. George held his breath and watched.
* * * *
Karen Ablet froze when she heard the noise downstairs. She sat quite still on the edge of the double bed and listened. Nothing. It was most likely a cat knocking something over outside, she told herself as she slipped her feet into a pair of pink fluffy slippers. But it was as well to make sure . . . especially since the letters had started to arrive. The police had promised to keep an eye on the house, but she knew that they only sent a patrol car round every hour or so. Hardly a deterrent.
She opened the bedroom door and stepped out onto the silent landing. It was always the same when Julian was away: Every slight sound in the house or garden took on a sinister significance. And those letters—threatening, bitter, vicious letters—had only made things worse. She peeped over the banister into the hall. Moonlight was shining through the stained glass in the front door—the original old door that she and Julian had so lovingly restored when they had moved in—casting still and unthreatening shadows onto the hall floor. There was nothing there that shouldn't have been there. No noise. Nothing wrong. Nothing to worry about.
She turned and walked back towards the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to return to bed and drift into a deep, comfortable sleep. Julian was back from his conference tomorrow so she wouldn't be alone for much longer. But just as she reached the bedroom door, the explosion shattered the calm silence of the night and she threw herself onto the landing carpet, her arms instinctively raised to protect her head.
She lay there terrified, hardly daring to move. She was sure she could hear the sound of running feet outside and as they faded into the distance, she shifted a little, testing her limbs. Her body felt stiff but, as far as she could tell, she'd suffered no lasting damage. Gathering courage, she looked up. She had expected to see a blazing fire or a cloud of dust, but the house looked quite normal in the watery moonlight that seeped in through the large landing window. She struggled to her knees; then she pushed herself into a standing position. She needed to check that everything was all right. In Julian's absence, she had to be brave.
Creeping down the stairs on tiptoe like a burglar, she saw the damage. The stained glass of the front door was lying in jagged jewels on the carpet, glinting in the jaundiced light from the street lamp outside. She was about to turn on a light to assess the extent of the damage but she stopped herself. Perhaps that was what they were waiting for—a good view of the target. She realised that, as she was only wearing thin slippers, it wouldn't be wise to go down into the hallway amongst the splinters of glass so she stood halfway up the stairs and pondered her next move. From where she stood she could just make out the brick they had thrown. The letters had threatened something worse than a brick through the window but perhaps the protesters’ courage had failed them. Or perhaps this was just a warning. A brick this time—a fire bomb next.
Karen turned and started to walk back up the stairs, making for the phone in the bedroom to call the police. Then she heard the doorbell ring twice and a man's voice calling through the glassless door. “Mrs. Ablet. Are you all right?"
The voice sounded authoritative, concerned. But caution took over and she froze on the stairs, listening.
"Mrs. Ablet, it's okay. He's gone. I saw him running off. Mrs. Ablet, are you in there?"
She relaxed. It sounded like Bill, her next-door neighbour. He was a terrible busybody but on this occasion she was grateful for his interference. Then she hesitated. Hadn't Bill mentioned he'd be away for a few days? She could hardly remember their last conversation over the back garden wall because his chatter always went in one ear and out of the other and she never really took in what he was telling her. She dashed upstairs to
* * * *
Karen Ablet froze when she heard the noise downstairs. She sat quite still on the edge of the double bed and listened. Nothing. It was most likely a cat knocking something over outside, she told herself as she slipped her feet into a pair of pink fluffy slippers. But it was as well to make sure . . . especially since the letters had started to arrive. The police had promised to keep an eye on the house, but she knew that they only sent a patrol car round every hour or so. Hardly a deterrent.
She opened the bedroom door and stepped out onto the silent landing. It was always the same when Julian was away: Every slight sound in the house or garden took on a sinister significance. And those letters—threatening, bitter, vicious letters—had only made things worse. She peeped over the banister into the hall. Moonlight was shining through the stained glass in the front door—the original old door that she and Julian had so lovingly restored when they had moved in—casting still and unthreatening shadows onto the hall floor. There was nothing there that shouldn't have been there. No noise. Nothing wrong. Nothing to worry about.
She turned and walked back towards the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to return to bed and drift into a deep, comfortable sleep. Julian was back from his conference tomorrow so she wouldn't be alone for much longer. But just as she reached the bedroom door, the explosion shattered the calm silence of the night and she threw herself onto the landing carpet, her arms instinctively raised to protect her head.
She lay there terrified, hardly daring to move. She was sure she could hear the sound of running feet outside and as they faded into the distance, she shifted a little, testing her limbs. Her body felt stiff but, as far as she could tell, she'd suffered no lasting damage. Gathering courage, she looked up. She had expected to see a blazing fire or a cloud of dust, but the house looked quite normal in the watery moonlight that seeped in through the large landing window. She struggled to her knees; then she pushed herself into a standing position. She needed to check that everything was all right. In Julian's absence, she had to be brave.
Creeping down the stairs on tiptoe like a burglar, she saw the damage. The stained glass of the front door was lying in jagged jewels on the carpet, glinting in the jaundiced light from the street lamp outside. She was about to turn on a light to assess the extent of the damage but she stopped herself. Perhaps that was what they were waiting for—a good view of the target. She realised that, as she was only wearing thin slippers, it wouldn't be wise to go down into the hallway amongst the splinters of glass so she stood halfway up the stairs and pondered her next move. From where she stood she could just make out the brick they had thrown. The letters had threatened something worse than a brick through the window but perhaps the protesters’ courage had failed them. Or perhaps this was just a warning. A brick this time—a fire bomb next.
Karen turned and started to walk back up the stairs, making for the phone in the bedroom to call the police. Then she heard the doorbell ring twice and a man's voice calling through the glassless door. “Mrs. Ablet. Are you all right?"
The voice sounded authoritative, concerned. But caution took over and she froze on the stairs, listening.
"Mrs. Ablet, it's okay. He's gone. I saw him running off. Mrs. Ablet, are you in there?"
She relaxed. It sounded like Bill, her next-door neighbour. He was a terrible busybody but on this occasion she was grateful for his interference. Then she hesitated. Hadn't Bill mentioned he'd be away for a few days? She could hardly remember their last conversation over the back garden wall because his chatter always went in one ear and out of the other and she never really took in what he was telling her. She dashed upstairs to
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