One Last Scream

She waited for a moment, and listened.

Then she heard it-a rustling sound, and twigs snapping underfoot. “Mark?” she called out again, more shrill this time. “Mark, please, answer me…”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied, emerging from the shadows of an evergreen beside the house. He carried the hunting rifle at his side, and seemed frazzled. “You were right,” he said, out of breath. “Something was out there. I don’t know if it was two-legged or four-legged, but I chased it halfway up the trail.”

Dumbfounded, Ina stepped back as he ducked inside.

“We’re okay now,” he said, shutting the door and locking it. “Whatever it was, it’s not coming back.” He set the rifle on the breakfast table, then reached into one of the cupboards. “Jesus, it’s cold as a polar bear’s pecker out there. I think we could both use a shot of Jack.”

Ina set the knife down beside the gun. She watched him pull a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard. He retrieved two jelly glasses with the Flintstones on them and poured a shot of the bourbon into each one.

“Has this kind of thing ever happened here before?” she asked warily.

Shaking his head, Mark handed her a glass. “Not quite. We’ve had bears come up to the house, like Jenna was saying. But I don’t think this was a bear.” He took a swig of bourbon.

Ina sipped hers. “What makes you so sure this…creature isn’t coming back?”

“Because it was running so fast. The damn thing must be in another zip code by now. But to be on the safe side, I’ll pull guard duty down here for another hour or so.”

“I’ll keep you company,” she offered.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ina.”

She let out an awkward, little laugh. “Why? Are you afraid we might ‘slip’ again?”

Mark sighed. “I told you before. It won’t happen a second time. And it sure as hell ain’t gonna happen with Jenna sitting in bed upstairs. God, Ina, what’s wrong with you?”

Glaring at him, she gulped down the rest of her bourbon, and then firmly set the glass on the kitchen counter. “I was just asking a simple question. That wasn’t a come-on, you asshole.”

She started to head out of the kitchen, but he grabbed her arm. “Listen…” But he didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, he sighed and let go of her arm. “We’re both tired and on edge, saying things we don’t mean. Just-just let’s call it a night, okay?”

Ina didn’t say anything to him, but she nodded.

“I’m going upstairs to say goodnight to Jenna. Then I’ll come back down here to keep watch. You should head up and try to get some sleep.” He poured some more Jack Daniel’s into her Flintstones glass. “Here. Have another blast of this. It’ll help you doze off.”

“Thanks,” Ina said, taking the glass, and moving toward the sink. She still wasn’t looking at him. But she could see his reflection in the darkened window as he stepped out of the kitchen.

Ina took a gulp of the bourbon. It was warming and took a bit of the edge off.

She listened to the staircase floorboards creaking. She just assumed it was Mark on his way up to the second floor.

Ina didn’t consider the possibility that the sound might be coming from the cellar steps.

The toilet flushing woke her.

Ina had nodded off for only a few minutes. She’d come up to bed about an hour ago, leaving Mark down in the living room with his hunting rifle. As Ina had reached the top of the stairs, she’d heard Jenna calling to her. She’d poked her head into the master bedroom.

Her sister was lying in bed with the light on. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been such an unbearable shrew today,” Jenna said, not lifting her head from the pillow. “You must want to clobber me.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Ina said. “Go to sleep.”

Jenna gazed up at the ceiling. Ina noticed, in this light, her sister was looking old and a bit careworn, and it made her sad. Neither one of them was young anymore.

“I think Mark has been with someone,” Jenna said.

Ina let out a skittish laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s having an affair, or at least, he’s had one. I can tell. By any chance, did he say something to George? He’s close with George.”

Ina shook her head.

“You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you? If George said something to you about it?”

“Of course, I’d tell you,” Ina said. She sat down on the edge of the bed, on Mark’s side. “Jenna, Mark loves you. He’s not seeing anyone else. That’s just nonsense. You’re worrying about nothing.”

“Maybe,” Jenna allowed, sighing. “Jesus, I’m so messed up. Nothing’s been right since Collin died. I feel like a zombie half the time. It’s as if I were walking around with a piece of my insides cut out. It hurts, Ina. It’s not just emotional either. It’s a-a true physical pain.”

“Oh Jen, I’m so sorry,” Ina whispered. “There now…there now…” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She hugged her sister.

Jenna rested her head on her shoulder and wept. Ina felt her sister’s tears through the silk burgundy robe.

After a while, they’d said goodnight, and Ina had slinked off to her room. Crawling into the creaky twin-size bed, she felt awful. Instead of supporting her sister during this terrible time, she’d slept with Mark. How could she do that to Jenna? And how could she do that to George?

She would be a better sister, a better wife, better mother, better person…

Ina had been telling herself that when she’d dozed off.

Now, she was awake again, listening to the toilet tank refilling. The master bedroom door let out a yawn as Mark closed it. He would be asleep soon, and she’d be the only one awake in the house-this creepy little house in the middle of nowhere.

Ina heard a rustling noise outside, and told herself to ignore it. They were practically surrounded by a forest, and it was full of creatures making noises. Or was it that thing Mark had chased halfway up the trail? Maybe it had come back. Maybe it had been watching the house, waiting for him to go to bed.

Ina, quit doing this to yourself.

There it was again, the rustling sound.

Ina tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed. Padding over to the dormer window, she peered outside. She didn’t see anything. But she heard those strange rustling sounds again. Was it coming from inside the house? Downstairs?

Standing very still, Ina listened. Floorboards creaked, more rustling. It wasn’t Mark; she would have heard the master bedroom door squeak open again. Way down the hall and farther from the stairs than her, Mark couldn’t hear what she was hearing, not even if he was still awake. She was the only one who heard it, the only one who knew something was terribly wrong.

You’re blowing this out of proportion. You got spooked earlier by that bear or whatever it was, and now you’re imagining the worst.

That much was true. She was thinking about the type of killer who might lurk within these woods, someone resourceful and clever, and yet savagely brutal. Someone deranged.

Stop it! She’d grown up listening to too many urban legends: the killer with the hook for a hand; the babysitter menaced by a maniac in an upstairs bedroom; and now, her own wild imaginings about this woodland killer.

She heard the noise again, and realized how silly she was. It was just the sound of logs in the fireplace popping and settling. That was all.

Ina crawled back into bed, and pulled the covers up to her neck. As much as she tried to convince herself everything was fine, she lay there tense and rigid, listening for the next sound.

She didn’t have to wait long. It came from downstairs again, in the living room, and she could tell exactly what it was: the legs of a chair scraping across the floor. Someone must have bumped into it.

The noise was loud enough that Mark must have heard it, too, because the master bedroom door creaked open again. Then there were footsteps in the upstairs hallway.

Ina climbed out of bed and started toward the door. Her heart was racing. At least she wasn’t the only one