Meadlowlark Story Society assignment: a spooky, scary story

The Sound: A poem

 

A mourning dove, perched on the top of the chimney, his cooing echoing down the hearth.

Scratching in a wall (mice?), since it fades you’re not too concerned.

Furnace kicking on, the ultimate in comfort sounds.

Thunder, a memory of welcome summer rain.

A dull, muffled thud, what’s that?, then nothing.

Trucks driving by, not on your street, but nearby. Noise pollution.

And then, THEN

Breaking glass.

Loud.

Unmistakable.

It’s the patio door, which is an old French-paned door. Easy-to-break glass. All at once, you think of that scene from a popular cult classic when the break-in happens.

Is that happening here?

You wonder.

Footsteps, now. You’re breathing quickly, shallowly. Panting.

You can’t move; a paralysis has set in. Awareness of this makes you panic even more.

There’s someone in the house, that much is certain.

You see him, standing in the doorway.

That paralysis from earlier has turned your throat dry, and you are unable to do anything but stare.

Mercifully, after seeing you

He runs out.

But not before breaking a few more panes, maybe in anger, on his way out

The relief you feel is overwhelming

Glass on the floor?

A door to fix?

Yesterday this would have depressed you, thinking of the cost and the headache.

Today, you laugh with relief.

He’s gone, you’re safe!

And then, after that brief bit of euphoria when you realize you’re alone again

And contemplate what just happened

Are you really safe?

Not yet

And

Not anymore.