Stranger in the Dark

In the darkness her eyes flew open, scanning into the shadowed corners where she coudln't actually see, but she didn't have to see to know.

He was back. The murders, the rapist, the monster, the child killer.

He was back. He was with her.

She had to get rid of him. Now. Once and for all.

She didn't turn on the light. She didn't want to frighten him away. Rolling slowly over in the bed, she groped on her nightstand to find he weapon. Her fingers touched her alarm clock, her bedtime glass of water and the base of her lamp, but not what she was looking for.

She had left it in the kitchen then, on the counter while she was washing dishes. Just in case he came then.

Since last time she had sworn to never be unprepaired, and until tonight she never had been. Of course, that was when he came.

She would have to go after it then, and hope he didn't notice that she had noticed him, before she got to it.

In the dark her house was a stranger, but she slid her feet along the capet, her fingers along the wall. Kitchen was there, at the end of the hall. The small light over the stove had been left on. She hoped it woudln't be too much.

The hallway seemed to strech forever, as she struggled to stay calm and quiet. She wanted him to still be there when she got her hands on her weapon. SHE wanted to be the one to do him in finally, and not have him go away on his own.

Finally, she was there, the kitchen, and her tool on the counter, between the coffee pot and the empty cup waiting on her first morning cup.

She nearly dashed the rest of the way, grabbing the handheld recorder and pushing the proper button. She began to speak.

"Her eyes flew open in the darkness," she said, "and she knew she wasn't alone. She struggled to see the shadows in the shadows that might hide someone, but it was useless. Still. She knew he was there, the one that had been in the news. The one they called the Monster."

Smiling now, because she had finally caught him, the writer contiuned to tell his story as she pushed the button that would start her coffee.

She had him in her grasp. There would be no more sleep tonight.

1 comments:

Ray (nothingpetty) said...

Nona, I love this. It is the perfect description of how things come to writers at the most inoportune time, and the struggle to get it down before you forget it.

Your writer is, however, smarter than I, she has a recorder handy. No matter how I try to prepare, the notebook, or worse the pen, has always managed to fall on the floor, under the bed, whenever I need it.

nothingpetty