Of Northern Stars

Creature

Prompts: There is a glass scratching sound on your house's windows and you get up out of bed to check it out. You look toward the windows and don't see anything. All of the sudden the glass breaks and something jumps in! What is it and what do you do next?

Creature 

Miranda Smith

I sigh contentedly and lean back into the comfort of my sofa cushions, the soft material moulds around my body, feeling warm and comfortable like a hug. I wrap my fingers around the mug, in which steam is rising, in tight, dizzying spirals, warming my cold face.

It's nice to get in from the cold. The temperature has barely risen above zero since the beginning of October. It's unusual for this time of year, but I'm slowly adapting. In all honesty, I've felt uncomfortable being out on the streets, ever since the news of the escaped tiger reached the news. The thing is most likely rabid by now, with all the rabid dogs and cats that litter the streets and surrounding forests.

I try to feel sad about the poor, beautiful creature that is lost out in the big city, but I remind myself that it is a wild animal, it would hold no mercy if it cornered me in a dark alley. Dark reports have been drifting from the box, each more grim than the last. People have been found all over the town, chests slashed open by what could only be claws and faces ripped to shreds by the gaping maw, a look of abject terror frozen upon whatever is left on their faces, eyes wide open, frozen and unseeing.

I shudder at the mental image and snuggle further into the cushions. I hope they catch that tiger soon, and put it out of its misery. I don't know how much more my nerves can take. The news has just came on, and another person has been killed. My stomach churns as the grim looking newsreader recounts the details. His hands are shaking slightly and it makes me wonder if he's seen the body, another one on the list of countless victims.

I turn the TV off quickly, unable to bear any of the gory details that are being recounted and rise reluctantly from the couch. The absence of the flickering, buzzing light has bathed the house in darkness, leaving only the moonlight to filter through the grimy looking windows, casting a thin corridor of light across the room.

I clutch my thick, knitted blanket around my shoulders and feel my way through the room, which is bathed in a crepuscular light, allowing large, hulking shadows to wrap themselves around the corners of the room. I shudder and quickly dash from the room.

I take a detour to the kitchen to drop of my mug. My gaze falls on the open kitchen window, it is icy cold in here and the curtains are flapping lazily in the breeze. I think I see a shadow flit across the garden but I just shrug it off as paranoia and slam the window shut, feeling instant relief from the biting cold.

The garden is in complete darkness, the trees serve as a backdrop of utter darkness, that is only broken up by the snow that is fluttering softly to the ground. Once more, I think I see a quick, darting shadow flit across the garden, and it immediately sets my heart racing. Swallowing nervously, I shut the curtains and hurry from the cold kitchen.

Despite the coldness of downstairs, upstairs is warm and stuffy, and I am immediately put at ease. There is something about the warmth that calms my nerves.

I waste no time in clambering into bed, and pulling the covers up to my chin. I perform the cursory once over of my bedroom, to be sure that there are no monsters lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce. It's a habit I picked up from childhood, that I haven't grown out of.

Sighing in relief. I close my eyes and let sleep start to take over.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

My eyes shoot open and I squint through the gloom, trying to figure out what is making the noise. There is no noise, but for the apple tree outside tapping against my window in the wind. I laugh to myself and close my eyes again.