The sounds of shuffling from down below continued, enhanced by the dark of the night adding to Monica’s terror as she cowered at the side of her bed.
Oh-m-goshOm-gosh, I-I-I’m being robbed, she thought, her old field hocky stick clutch tight in her hands. This was supposed to be a safe neighborhood, a place to be able to walk down to the corner Burger King without any fear or threats to herself.
Now this, some, some thugernaught rummaging though my meager home like a Sunday stroll through Wal-Mart. God, where is the justice!
A sweat built up on her weathered brows, hands clutching the stick like it was her only means to cope with this fact she imagined would never happen to her. My, lord! Why me now, couldn’t you have waited until I had like died or something?
The tremors in her frail legs grew more intense, and then another low thud sounded followed by the breaking of something on the floor.
No, the China! Please, spare my mother’s memory!
Monica recalled the gift her dear mother had given her and Bob on their wedding day. Fond memories that made her smile picturing the happiness that brought back, collecting and admiring, cataloging and showing them to her friends. Even after her mother past, the chinaware felt more like her presence remained with them in their home.
Now this!
She rose up drawn back to the sudden silence, throat getting dryer and dryer fearing what might come if this intruder came up the stairs in search of more booty. She chuckled a bit, mind drifting down the rabbit hole so to speak, trying to suppress the knots twisting her stomach.
Oh, go away. Please go away! Take what you want but go and leave me alone!
Did she speak out loud? Monica was not sure, then a thump sounded this time back out in the front room. She reached a hand down pulling her nightgown closer around her, listening intently and the thumps moved she thought back into the living room.
More silence, clutching at her mind, the chill in the night air felt like it dropped a few more degrees, then she heard the scrape of one of the windows slide down.
Spared, Cried her desperate brain. She could get up and dash for her phone stupidly left in its charging cradle by her recliner.
Help, 911!
What’s your emergency?
Monica’s hopeful imagination drew more confidence in her. That was, until she heard a low creek, then another, familiar creeks she knew were coming from the steps leading up to the second floor…
