Footsteps
© Benjamin Green
Something was going to happen. Holly Jamieson didn't know how that knowledge came to her. She just knew it like she knew her own name. One minute, she was folding laundry. The next minute, she was waiting for something to happen.
The problem was, she had no idea what it was. Frowning, she stepped out of the laundry room. Something was drawing her to the stairs, like an unseen magnet. With each step, the sense of anticipating grew even more unbearable.
She felt like she was fighting her way though viscous tar, trying to draw liquid oxygen into her straining lungs. The thought occurred to her that once she figured out what was causing the feeling, it would be anticlimax. The thought caused her to let out a breathless laugh.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped, and cocked her head. The next sound she heard froze her blood. It was the thump of feet landing in the attic. Her heart began palpitating in her chest. There was somebody in the house with her!
On the surface, the idea was absurd. Who would try getting into her house in a blizzard? How would they even get near enough the house to try getting in? However, the sheer impossibility of the situation only made it more terrifying. Anyone who would do this was capable of anything.
Her husband was still at work, snowed in from the blizzard that had hit town. He had called, and said he was fine, so Holly didn't worry about him. The problem was that she was now alone in the house with the kids, and a stranger.
Her sense of security was shattered, and she was afraid. What might the stranger do? That caused her more fear than anything else. She heard him clomping back and forth, as if he were looking for something.
She forced herself to stop and think. Just because Jim wasn't here to protect her didn't mean she was helpless. First thing to do was go check on the children. Filled with that resolution, she hurried off to the twins's room.
Both of them were asleep, taking their midafternoon nap. Next, she looked in on Rebekah. She was cowering on her bed, a teen magazine crumpled in her fist. She stared at her mother with wide-eyed fear. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure, babe. It sounds like a prowler." Rebekah whimpered in the back of her throat. "Listen to me carefully. I want you to barricade your door with a chair. You aren't to open this door until I tell you that it's safe."
"I wish you were here."
She gave her daughter a squeeze. "I do to, babe. Unfortunately, it looks like we're going to have to make do. Can you do that for me?"
Rebekah nodded, and Holly left. The door slammed behind her. The next item of business was to find some kind of weapon to confront the intruder with. A knife? Always a good choice. The problem was the kitchen was too far away.Besides, what if he had a gun?
In that moment, gun control no longer seemed like such a good idea. No matter. This was not the time for self-recriminations. Her eyes swept the room. Looking for possible ideas.
There! The fireplace! Beside it was a brass pole, with a hook on either side. One side held a brass shovel, to help dispose of the ashes. The other side had what she=2 0was looking for, a poker. If she could sneak up on the stranger's side, he would be made to regret invading her home.
The footsteps came to a stop, and she heard the squeak-thump of the built-in ladder being lowered upstairs. Her palms became sweaty, and the poker seemed too heavy to lift all of a sudden.
The stranger was coming down to the second floor. Steeling up her nerve, she set out to meet him. The footsteps were now moving toward the stairs. She moved on an intercept course, fireplace poker held at the ready in both hands.
A bo dy could be heard sliding down the banister. She arrived just in tome to hear the footsteps running for the back of the house, toward the kitchen. That was followed by the crash of the back door being thrown open.
She advanced toward the kitchen with care, in case the stranger was trying to trick her. She spun into the entrance, poker at the ready. There was nobody there. The back door was wide open, letting the snow blow in. She relaxed, thinking that whatever the intruder's intentions, he was now gone.
She set down the poker, and moved to close the door. There her eyes got as big as dinner plates, and her breath clogged up in her throat. The snow was a white blanket, hiding everything beneath it. Ther e wasn't a single footprint on it.