Until that precise moment, Gillian had never known exactly
what the phrase frozen with fear
meant but that’s exactly what she was. Her gut told her to get behind the
safety of a locked door, but her heart told her to run for her life. Holding
her breath, she had to make a decision.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she muttered as she dashed quickly into
the dark cottage, slamming the door behind her, leaning with her back against
the door. She knew her father would be furious with her and the pickle she’d
gotten herself into by coming to the property.
In that split second between the door opening in front of
her on its own and the movement behind her in the woods, she had rationalized
that while the snapping branches indicated a very real threat, the opened door
could could easily be justified by the old age of the cottage.
As she stood in the dark entryway, the only sound was her
heavy breathing and pounding heart which Gillian was certain was audible
outside of her own body. She took a step
away from the door to her left, her hands following along the wall searching
for a light.
Every step that she took seemed to awaken the wind. The
cottage moaned in protest of the ever-increasing gales and the roof sounded as
though a jackhammer were beating down upon it as acorns and branches and--could it be?--hail pounded above Gillian’s head.
She did not halt her movements, instead she became more
determined to find light or help or anything that would give her peace of mind.
She came to a corner and tripped over a canister that contained one umbrella,
its covering long having disintegrated leaving it as nothing more than a baton.
She held it tight in her right hand, ready to swing, as her left hand continued to use the wall
as a guide leading Gillian further and further into the cottage.
As suddenly as the wind and rain and barrage of sounds upon the roof had begun, it
stopped. She paused letting the silence
fill the sudden void surrounding her in the dark hallways of the cottage.
Straight ahead of her, a shimmer appeared, eventually
evolving into a glow and then becoming the soft light of a candle or perhaps an
oil lamp.
tap tap tap tap tap
She walked toward both the light and sound, holding her breath.
tap tap tap tap tap
Gillian was suddenly aware of the distinct smell of Prince Albert
tobacco before it was stuffed into a pipe.
tap tap tap tap tap
The light source could not be found, yet the room glowed.
The tap tap tapping was coming from the
Underwood typewriter, yet no one was sitting at the desk chair. The smell of
Prince Albert became stronger, as did the smell of sulfer from a lit match.
tap tap tap tap tap
Gillian hesitantly inched toward the desk and nearly lost
her balance along with her breath as she read the words being pecked out …
What did it say? WHAT DID IT SAY?!?! Check out the continuation tomorrow on All That and Some Other Stuff.
Dun, dun, dun …
