With the Setting of the Sun

almost the end, something's not right at home

I removed the police tape draped across the front door, inserted key, and stepped inside. My anxiety demanded the front door to be open, so I did just that. An uneasy feeling washed over me as I made my way across the living room. Once I got to my favorite recliner, I sat down. I had no interest in going any farther. So I sat and looked over my mail.

   An easterly breeze found its way inside. The cold wind renewed the energy in the place. My interest in the mail had passed, I traded it for a faux fur cover and kicked my feet up. Fatigue and stress had left me drained. I closed my eyes and let my distant wind chime carry me away… the singing chime lulled me into a restful sleep. The coolness of the room draped over me like a cold expanse of fog. My thoughts aligned and a ridgeline reared up before me. Dancing vapors waltzed across a genteel body of water. Like evening vespers they stretched toward Heaven. Overcome with its pure beauty, I sighed. The dream could have gone on forever. Until the sudden slamming of the door brought me to my feet. 

   A single piece of mail fell to the floor. A letter from Jason’s uncle. I had not noticed it before. I decided a draft closed the door and headed to my bedroom, leaving his message for another time. The first order of business move my things to the back bedroom. Second and most important clean up the wreckage, which patiently waited for my return.  Most would clean first, but in my mind, I needed to separate myself from this painful memory. So removing my things first seemed like a sound plan.

 
I had loved the front bedroom. The morning sun always greeted me. I now would gladly settle for a west view of the setting sun.I gathered an armful of clothes and headed out the bedroom to the kitchen.  The old house was a big box shape with no hallways to speak of.
 
As I stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of coffee greeted me. It's a pleasant and familiar smell, robust and nutty.  I didn’t think much of it till I rounded the corner and could see a steaming cup of coffee. The over-sized navy blue mug on my mahogany dinner table captured my imagination in the worst way.

  

Like a portentous signal, it just sat there on the bare table. The accompanying chair pulled back slightly.  Hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my fluttering heart contested wildly. I spun around in a 360. Looking, thinking, trying not to speculate.  My shuffling feet made its way to the coffee.  I told myself someone came by for a visit while I was sleeping, got tired of waiting and left. “That’s it, it’s the only thing that makes sense.” I declared it softly in a low whisper as if I was hiding that fact from the house itself.

   I continued to move my clothes and the rest of my things. Then googled, how to clean blood from a wood floor, and went to work. The midday sun was soon gone. Now ready to retreat for the evening, the sky blossomed in soft colors of mauve.

I had spent nine hours cleaning.  A hurting back with a hint of arthritis made me slow to stand. In the kitchen, my cell phone began to ring. By the time I got to the phone the call had ended. So I went to the freezer for a frozen burrito and then a beer. “Bon appetite.”  I lit a cigarette and took a small swig of beer.

 

 I eased out a long slow breath while I waited for the burrito to finish. I grabbed my phone.  “No missed calls,” I muttered, and again my nerves were exposed. Leaving my dinner in the microwave, I took the beer and retreated to my new room. Sitting on the bed like a child home alone I sat and sipped my Corona.

 
I was sick of this fearful state. So like any adult, I turned all the lights in the house on including the security light out back. Opened another beer and played my ‘Big Chill’ CD of Procol Harum’s Whiter Shade of Pale. Filling the space with a soothing sound. Determined to eat my dinner I returned to the kitchen.  I pushed the button to the microwave. The door swung open, and nothing. Not one blessed thing was in the microwave. I quickly did an about-face. I was in a full-fledged panic attack.

  

The D.A. still had my handgun. The only other guns I had were in a gun safe, in that front bedroom. I couldn’t bring myself to go in there. My cell phone had been on the countertop, but it was nowhere in sight. “Damn,” I whispered, more afraid of the house than ever.
 
The microwave was on a small stand by the sliding French door. I quickly ran out the side door and went to my barn for my four-wheeler. I drove a mile up the dirt road to the Blake’s farm and asked to use their phone.

  "Hello Greg, I need you to come over." … “I don’t know, please just come.”… “Okay, I’ll wait for you here.”

 

 

 

Reviews

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn..]

A clever twist of long over due domestic violence and abuse, visited by Karma upon its perpetrator, weaved into a developing mystery of suspense and mental terror that comes with that creepy feeling that someone has been in your home, or IS in your home, without your knowledge or consent--an invasion of privacy quite possibly intended to instill fear as a further extension of the abuse thought to have come to an end in the wreckage of that moment of having had quite enough of a woman beating man … This mystery now formulates the question posed as that of whether or not this new mental and emotional terror is truly being inflicted intentionally, or whether there is some reasonable explanation to be revealed as your tale moves along, which is exactly what does shape this story into an evolving mystery full of suspense that contains the expectation of the unexpected that patterns it as a thriller ... I look forward to learning the cause of cups of coffee appearing and the vanishing of burritos, whether that cause be the malicious work of the late woman beater's relatives or friends, or the innocent self preservation of someone in hiding with no where to go, for whatever reason is brought to light ... And, in these words I share, the mystery heightens and deepens in wanting to know more ...

Marv

[Cherrie Palmer]

I tried to keep the basic idea simple, I hope you like the ending. I wanted to play on her fears and weaved parts of a real event into this tale. Keeping it in the 1st person was a challenge.
Your input is always helpful and needed.
Thank you so much :)

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn..]

On my way to the next chapter ... "I just stopped in to see what condition my condition was in" ... Or, should I say, her condition and that of her mysterious visitor ...

[Cherrie Palmer]

I wrote a story called a Dial in the Dark (true story) about a blind woman who had a homeless man hiding in her house. So I wanted to add some of that mystery to this. I think people who do that by nature, even without someone helping it along.