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Authors: Karen Robards
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meager, but it was way better than no light at all.
As for the soft roar of the rain, it was soothing, not spooky, just like the sudden rush of cool air that blew through the screen was refreshing rather than ghostly.
So there.
“The bathroom’s behind that door,” she said, deliberately using her normal voice and pointing. Fortunately for the health and well-being of Sandra’s bladder, the door happened to be just inside the wedge of grayness cast by the open front door, because she was fairly sure that Sandra, who was edging cautiously along in her wake, would have balked at going any farther. The darkness turned black as the inside of a cauldron just a few steps beyond the bathroom door.
“ Shh! Do you have to talk so loud?”
The house’s atmosphere was clearly getting to Sandra, too. Big surprise. Sandra had freely admitted to being creeped out while they were still outside on the comparatively unatmospheric lawn. If truth were told, right at that particular moment Carly might be experiencing some of those same chickenhearted pangs herself, but as their little expedition’s fearless leader she refused to give in to them. She wasn’t about to allow herself to be afraid of what was now her own house.
Her own pitch-dark spooky house.
A sharp click just behind her made her jump almost out of her shoes.
“Ouch! Crap. How’m I supposed to pee in the dark? I can’t even find the toilet.”
Having turned into the bathroom while Carly ventured ahead,Sandra had shut the door. That was the sound she had heard, Carly realized. She sagged with relief, then caught herself up and deliberately stiffened her spine. Leaving Sandra to her own devices, she headed around the wide staircase and moved cautiously toward the dining room. It was next to the kitchen at the back of the house, through a set of pocket doors that opened off the hall. Feeling her way along, she discovered by touch that the doors were open. It was so dark, here in the bowels of the house, that she literally couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Her grandmother had favored heavy velvet draperies on all the windows. They were closed now, shutting out the faintest hope that any stray sliver of grayness might light her way.
It was the absolute darkness that was making her imagine things, Carly decided as she moved with increasingly tentative steps around the perimeter of the large dining room toward where the china cabinet had always stood against the far wall. Like the feeling that she was being watched. Like the faint, hard to place but somehow off-putting smell. Like the sudden rustling sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the darkness, as if a movement had been made by an unseen somebody or something, and quickly stilled.
Carly froze, peering blindly in the direction from which the sound had come. That part was not her imagination. She had definitely heard something move. For a moment she stood motionless as her heart accelerated like a race car’s engine.
She was not alone. She was sure of it. Someone, something, was there with her in the dark.
Before she could totally hyperventilate, an imperative-sounding meow snatched her back from Jason/Freddy/Michael Myers land. With a rush of half-shamed relief, she realized just who was there in the dining room with her: Hugo, of course. His were the eyes she felt tracking her through the darkness. His fur was probably damp, accounting for the elusively familiar smell that, vaguely, she somehow associated with something unpleasant. As for the sound—perhaps he’d brushed up against something, or even batted something across the floor.
“Hugo, you scared me to death,” she said. The cat didn’t answer—not that she had expected him to, of course—but with the eerie feeling of another presence now explained to satisfaction Carly was reassured anyway. Just knowing that Hugo was there in the dark with her made her feel better. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she went on about her business.
As for the soft roar of the rain, it was soothing, not spooky, just like the sudden rush of cool air that blew through the screen was refreshing rather than ghostly.
So there.
“The bathroom’s behind that door,” she said, deliberately using her normal voice and pointing. Fortunately for the health and well-being of Sandra’s bladder, the door happened to be just inside the wedge of grayness cast by the open front door, because she was fairly sure that Sandra, who was edging cautiously along in her wake, would have balked at going any farther. The darkness turned black as the inside of a cauldron just a few steps beyond the bathroom door.
“ Shh! Do you have to talk so loud?”
The house’s atmosphere was clearly getting to Sandra, too. Big surprise. Sandra had freely admitted to being creeped out while they were still outside on the comparatively unatmospheric lawn. If truth were told, right at that particular moment Carly might be experiencing some of those same chickenhearted pangs herself, but as their little expedition’s fearless leader she refused to give in to them. She wasn’t about to allow herself to be afraid of what was now her own house.
Her own pitch-dark spooky house.
A sharp click just behind her made her jump almost out of her shoes.
“Ouch! Crap. How’m I supposed to pee in the dark? I can’t even find the toilet.”
Having turned into the bathroom while Carly ventured ahead,Sandra had shut the door. That was the sound she had heard, Carly realized. She sagged with relief, then caught herself up and deliberately stiffened her spine. Leaving Sandra to her own devices, she headed around the wide staircase and moved cautiously toward the dining room. It was next to the kitchen at the back of the house, through a set of pocket doors that opened off the hall. Feeling her way along, she discovered by touch that the doors were open. It was so dark, here in the bowels of the house, that she literally couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Her grandmother had favored heavy velvet draperies on all the windows. They were closed now, shutting out the faintest hope that any stray sliver of grayness might light her way.
It was the absolute darkness that was making her imagine things, Carly decided as she moved with increasingly tentative steps around the perimeter of the large dining room toward where the china cabinet had always stood against the far wall. Like the feeling that she was being watched. Like the faint, hard to place but somehow off-putting smell. Like the sudden rustling sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the darkness, as if a movement had been made by an unseen somebody or something, and quickly stilled.
Carly froze, peering blindly in the direction from which the sound had come. That part was not her imagination. She had definitely heard something move. For a moment she stood motionless as her heart accelerated like a race car’s engine.
She was not alone. She was sure of it. Someone, something, was there with her in the dark.
Before she could totally hyperventilate, an imperative-sounding meow snatched her back from Jason/Freddy/Michael Myers land. With a rush of half-shamed relief, she realized just who was there in the dining room with her: Hugo, of course. His were the eyes she felt tracking her through the darkness. His fur was probably damp, accounting for the elusively familiar smell that, vaguely, she somehow associated with something unpleasant. As for the sound—perhaps he’d brushed up against something, or even batted something across the floor.
“Hugo, you scared me to death,” she said. The cat didn’t answer—not that she had expected him to, of course—but with the eerie feeling of another presence now explained to satisfaction Carly was reassured anyway. Just knowing that Hugo was there in the dark with her made her feel better. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she went on about her business.
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