"You're paranoid," I told myself a I hung my raincoat up to dry. Still, the dark, empty cabin seemed foreboding. Making sure I locked the door, I pulled out my sheet music and sat at the piano. As my fingers danced over the keys, my mind wandered. I remembered last summer, when my cousin was attacked during a vacation to Africa. She'd been badly wounded, and was in a fever-induced delirium for a while. Everyone passed off what she said as rubbish, but I believed every word.
She told me what had attacked her, and why. She described them as very muscular men, in all-red c lothes and with black claw marks on their faces. Before they hurt her, they threatened her. 'Anyone with that birthmark,' they'd said, 'will be hunted until we kill them.'
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, my fingers froze. In the sudden silence, I heard voices and the rattling of the doorknob. My heart rate shot up, and I searched for a hiding place. Quietly, i crept into the library, touching my pocket, reassuring myself that my phone was there. I moved the pillows off the windowseat, arranging them neatly on the couch and chairs, then slid my hand under the thick cushion until I found the latch on the door to the storage space underneath. As I folded my body into the cramped area, the front door burst open. When heavy boots thudded around the house, I lowered the door and let the cushion hide it once more.
