“ Okay, girl, I’m coming.” She went into her bedroom, opened her bottom dresser drawer and laughed as the white ferret jumped out and scurried up onto her shoulder. It nuzzled her ear. “You always know when Mom’s not home, don’t you?” The animal’s body wiggled its yes answer.
Carolina opened the top drawer and pulled her underwear and tee shirts aside to get at the dried cat food underneath. Having a secret pet was fun, but soon she was going to have to tell her mother, because soon she was going to be out of food and she would need some money to get more. Money she didn’t have, her allowance didn’t go far enough.
She opened one of the small packages with her teeth and laid out the contents on the corner of her dresser and giggled as the ferret leapt off her shoulder onto the dresser top and started to eat.
“ Hungry, huh? Okay, you eat and I’ll go and get some water.” She rubbed the animal’s back and giggled when it wiggled. “I’ll be right back.” She was happy as she left the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen. She still had to go to the bathroom, but she could hold it till she got a bowl full of water for her pet. After all, Sheila depended on her. She could go pee anytime. She closed the door to her bedroom, so Sheila couldn’t run about the house, and went for the water.
She turned on the light when she entered the kitchen. She shivered a little. It was cold. She opened the cupboard by the refrigerator, took out a bowl and went to the sink. She turned on the water. Then she heard it, a crackling kind of sound from outside the kitchen window. Someone was there, walking across the dried leaves outside. She turned to the window and saw nothing but her reflection, but it felt like somebody was out there. She turned off the water with the bowl only partially full.
She set it on the counter. The house was quiet as the desert with no wind. She took shallow, silent breaths, as if whoever was out there could hear the blood surging through her veins and the raging sound of air as it rushed in and out of her lungs.
Something scraped along the side of the house, by the kitchen window. Her heart pounded. She walked backwards, taking baby steps, without picking up her feet. She put her hands behind herself, feeling for the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway. More scraping. She wanted to run, but was frozen. She took a deep breath, fighting back a cough as her asthma kicked up. She tried to hold it back. Her inhaler was by the sink, but the sink was under the window.
She had another one, but where was it? Her lungs started to spasm. Where was it? She closed her eyes for a flash and tried to picture where she’d seen it last. Ever since she could remember she’d had trouble with words. She always seemed to get the letters mixed up. She compensated by remembering things as pictures. She saw the picture. It was sitting on the TV.
The muscles in her stomach started to contract. She doubled over and bit her lip, fighting back the coughing spasm. She forced her feet to move. More scraping outside. The person, animal or thing out there was getting closer to the window above the sink. She was afraid to breathe, if she didn’t get the inhaler quick, she might have a full blown attack. She stretched her right arm behind herself, never taking her eyes off the window, finally she felt the door jamb.
She had no choice. She grabbed a great breath and went into a jerking, gut wrenching, coughing spasm. An attack was close. She reached up and flicked off the light, covering the room in darkness. Then she turned, coughing and holding her hands out in front of herself, because the spasm forced her to keep her eyes squinted shut.
She felt along wall, till she found the door to the dining room. She stumbled into the table, banging herself in the shins on one of the dining room chairs. She put her hands on top of the table and worked her way around it. If whatever was outside was making any noise, she was drowning it out with her coughing.
She made her way halfway around the table, then she turned toward the living room, flicking the dining room light off as she passed it. She stumbled and fell over the couch, winding up on the floor. The attack was close. She crawled to the television, fought to get up on her knees, reaching out for the inhaler.
It wasn’t there.
Her mother must have moved it.
Where would she put it?
The medicine cabinet in the hallway bathroom. That’s where her mother always put the inhalers when she left them lying around.
The spasm eased up for a second and she crawled over to the end table by the right side of the couch, reached up and turned the lamp off. Now the house was dark.
She pushed herself off the floor, forcing herself into a bent over crouch with her hands on her knees. She walked bent, coughing and jerking, with her head facing the floor. She remembered to go around the table in the dining room, but she misjudged where the doorway was and bumped into the wall. She flung her arms left and right along it and found the doorway. She moved right and went through it.
The attack was on her. She felt like she was going to die. She was afraid the inhaler wouldn’t be enough. She might need oxygen. She didn’t have any. She was never without her inhalers. She’d never had a problem, till now, but she’d never been this terrified and worked up before.
She moved along the wall with her right hand leading the way, feeling for the bathroom door. She wished she would have left her bedroom door open, because then the light from her room would have been enough for her to see in the hallway. She felt the doorway, but she was afraid she didn’t have time to feel around in the darkness for the medicine cabinet, so she flicked on the light and opened the mirrored door. It was there. She grabbed it with a shaking hand, put it to her lips and took a quick puff, followed by two more, and the contractions started to weaken.
After a few seconds she was able to breathe again, not normally, but well enough so she could move about the house. She turned off the bathroom light and scooted along the wall toward her bedroom. She found the door, felt for the knob, found it, opened it and went in, closing it after herself and turning out the light.
There was someone out there. She felt it. She knew it. Last night she only felt it. Tonight she knew it. And tonight she was alone, again. But she wasn’t going to sit and wait for them, or it, to come and get her, no sir. She took another puff from her inhaler, then put it in her pocket. It was stupid not having one there all along. Then she set Sheila on her shoulder with one hand and grabbed her father’s old baseball bat from under her bed with the other.
She sat on the bed for a minute, catching her breath and letting her eyes get used to the dark, then she went into the living room where the phone was. By the time she sat down on the couch, the attack was over and she was breathing normally.
She set Sheila down on the back of the couch and dialed Arty’s number, feeling a small sense of relief when she heard the phone on the on the other end of the line start ringing.
He heard the phone ringing from under his pillow and was afraid to answer it. What if it was her. But of course it was her, nobody ever called him. It was her. It had to be her. He wished he didn’t have a phone in his room. He wished he didn’t have his own number. But he had a paper route and sometimes he had to use the phone for collections and his father wouldn’t let him use the family’s phone. He made Arty have his own, and he made him pay for it, too.
The back of his neck tingled with the vibration of each ring. He’d been sleeping on his back, with his head directly over the phone. He didn’t want to answer it, but if he didn’t, his parents might hear it and come into his room. He didn’t think they could hear it, though. The pillow hid the sound, like pillows always hide the sound of a bad guy’s pistol in old gangster movies.
The phone rang again.
What if she’d heard the noise again?
The phone rang again.
What if she felt like she was being watched again?
The phone rang again.
What if she wanted him to come over?
The phone rang again.
He picked it up.
“ Hello,” he tried to sound sleepy, but he was afraid his whispering voice had betrayed him.
“ Arty?” It was her.
“ It’s me.”
