My Darkest Rose

Chapter 11

Shelter from the Storm

He took one step inside. The sound of the storm seemed far away, the internal silence deafening. The air was both familiar and cloying, like an old woman's shawl.

And it was very dark. What little light filtered through the vine-covered windows revealed only rough outlines of a couch, the only remaining furniture, which formed a faux-wall between the living room and kitchen. The glass door leading to the deck, while dirty, was spared from the onslaught of vegetation that had taken over the front of the house, and he could see the outline of the deck just off the back of the house.

He did not want to go inside, but knew he had to. There was no turning back now, despite the growing feeling that somewhere in the dark house, something waited. In one of the bedrooms, or hiding behind the couch. In the hallway, perhaps, just around the corner.

He sat Theodore's crate on the ground facing away from the door. "Not much to look at, huh?"

His voice, as thin as a needle, echoed through the empty room, then died, suddenly, swallowed by the sound of hail hitting the roof.

As he stepped further inside, he was struck by how small it all seemed. No more than a cottage, really, and not much bigger than his studio apartment.

To calm his nerves, he began a mental list of things that needed fixed. Gate lock, re-gravel driveway, clear out forest debris, pull back vegetation, power-wash house, new roof. He repeated them like a mantra as he took one step after another toward the couch.

He paused, waiting. When nothing sprang at him from behind the couch, he stepped forward, keeping his eyes on the window ahead, not looking down at the ground or the inky black shadows leading to the hall.

He walked through the kitchen to the back door and tried the light switch. Nothing.

He peered through the window into the back and could see that a large tree had fallen, probably years ago, and smashed the back railing of the deck.

Fix deck railing, he added to the mental list.

As he strained to see Moonwood Lake through the trees, the hail came to an abrupt stop. In the silence, he could hear a tapping sound somewhere in the house, like a fingernail on a counter, tap, tap, tap.

He turned around, certain that something was behind him, but found only the empty room he had just walked through and the open front door. The tapping stopped.

He walked into the living room to check on Theodore. The cat was just beginning to peek his head out of the crate and sniff the air.

Feeling as if he might crawl out of his own skin, he walked out the front door and into the rain. He got his phone from the charger, grabbed his bag and Theodore's litter box and went back inside, this time with a light. Theodore had his head out of the crate, sniffing the carpet.

"Pretty rank, huh?"

He knew he should shut the front door, that a city cat like Theodore could run outside and get stuck up a tree or lost, or even eaten. He had claws and teeth, sure, but he was no match for a raccoon.

And as soon as he had the lights on, bugs would find their way inside.

But he wasn't ready to close himself up in the house, in the dark. There was still that feeling that he wasn't alone and he wanted an easy escape, should he need it.

He returned to the car for his groceries and brought them back to the kitchen. The breaker box was right next to the back door. He remembered his mom used to cover it with something that looked like a curtain, but that was gone, likely tossed or donated when Fauna cleaned out the house.