Footsteps

just read the story please :D

Phantom curtains slowly block out the room’s window. The fields grow farther away and thoughtfully go to sleep, disappearing into the night’s confusion.

I can hear them coming, but I try not to listen. There’s a lake nearby I try to listen to instead, or at least I think it’s a lake. I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it. I just hear it. I hear the ravens cawing back and forth, fighting for rule over the dark waters. Waves splash back and fourth from the shore, rolling from black to white underneath the moonlight. I listen and the picture paints itself. I try not to look away, but the footsteps get louder. I cross my heart and burrow farther under the sheets.

The footsteps come when Rose is away. She comes, helps me with things, and is the only person I understand. She often leaves at dusk, and so they arrive, continuing until they’ve reached wherever it is they’re going. I never want Rose to leave.

The footsteps are everywhere now. They’re eager like a playing child and leave no prints in the floors dust. Maybe because they’re made out of dust, out of ashes. 

There’s a flash followed by a loud crash of thunder. I jump up under the sheets. The pattering quickens. The Storms excite them. Sometimes it sounds like they’re scared too, running around trying to find someplace to hide. I tuck my knees in tighter to my chest and tighten the sheets, enclosing all corners. The thumps upstairs quicken and veer off in every direction. The floorboards bend and creak louder. They soon converge and fly down the steps. They are as scared as I am.

 They continue through the kitchen, slamming cabinets, through the hallway, bumping along the walls, getting closer. Suddenly the noise stops. I think they’re outside my door. My face begins to prick like a pincushion, sweat piercing through, on my brow, but cannot wipe it away. To resemble a burning skeleton, the heat of the room absorbs from the door and hits me like spears.

They’ve found some place to hide. They could be under my bed, or standing over me right now, wondering where I am. Who I am. I pray they don’t look under here.

 If you don’t let them in, they will let themselves in. Open the door and they will keep you safe. I think about what Rose tells me. I think hard about Rose until I hear the morning forest wake the birds. I unfold a slight edge of the sheet just for my face. The air is light and cool.  I can see the time; the strange way the clock moves. Its hands tiptoeing�"tick�"tock, composing the time of day, guiding the parade. The earth listens to the clock and realizes its time and breaths light into the darkness. I sit by the window waiting for Rose.

There is a big tree close to the window. Rose says it’s a blue condor spruce. It looks like the trees that always used to grow in our house during winter. I don’t like how from behind the tree everything is split in two, two factions, two hearts never coming together. When Rose walks away, she walks between this void, her figure never peaking out from either side. She just disappears. Other people walk into the void. But a second later they appear again on the other side.

Like the footsteps, I never get to see where Rose goes, or comes from. I think she does this on purpose, maybe because she wants me to think she never left, that she’s still there guarding me from behind the tree. I can never pick up the sound of the other half, the ground stairs up without reason, the world flowers without talk, without compliment. A thankless job.

Others come and go while I sit at the window waiting for Rose. I don’t notice them, but sometimes they make me. Their faces tight and ugly, mouths moving but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I can smell them. It’s a bitter smell and makes me twitch, makes me lock the door. Rose is the only person that talks to me and has a smell that makes me feel safe.  If you don’t let them in, they will let themselves in. Open the door and they will keep you safe.

I sit by the window wondering if she really is close by, waiting behind the tree, sneaking glances to make sure I’m safe. She must be there. I feel safe.

The curtains come again and everything darkens. The footsteps begin. I wonder when Rose left. The footsteps walk hard, pounding and shaking the ceiling. I tighten the sheets around me. Now there at the stairs again, though this time their steps are slow and steady. I wish they wouldn’t come down here, I wish they would just stay upstairs. They are running now, the pitter-patter of little feet is everywhere again. I try to shut them out, but now they're knocking on my door. The knocks are slow and soft and constant. My eyes open wide; a hot shock runs through me and makes every tip of my body tingle. IF YOU DO NOT LET THEM IN IF YOU DON’T LET THEM IN LET THEM IN. The beat stops. I feel safe. Rose must have come back. I lift the sheets and go to the window. A light from the moon circles the blue tree. Its fur of needles sways in the glow. Let them in. You are safe. I go and open the door and let them in.       

Author's Note

ok

Reviews

[Mauricio Montoya]

I’m not an expert on stories when it comes to errors in grammar but from what I read I can see you got what it take to write, great job keep on writing.