Trembling With Fear: SCAREDY-CAT by: JP McLean

SCAREDY-CAT

By: JP McLean

I lie in the darkness, straining to hear the dull thump that woke me. Cold sweat prickles my neck. Perhaps it was just the steel roof adjusting to the falling temperature. Pulling the duvet to my chin, I try to be brave and not annoyed that Jack left for a conference before we’d finished unpacking.

Wait. There it is again. I hold my breath.

Was it a footstep? On the roof? Couldn’t be. No one could get up there without help. Did Jack put away the ladder after he cleaned the gutters?

Shadows from the maple tree in the backyard splay across the ceiling. I roll my head toward the window, wishing I’d closed the drapes. The tree’s bare branches quiver in a gust of wind. My head snaps to a tick against the glass.

A cat’s yowl lets loose, followed by a screech and hiss. I jump at the metallic crash of a garbage can toppling at the side of the house. The lid rattles as it settles on the concrete. A vicious shriek erupts, followed by high-pitched yips. A howl echoes through the night and the yips fade down the street.

I let out a breath. Just cats fighting. I laugh at myself and roll over, my back to the window, and fluff the pillow. With a sigh, I relax into the lull of pre-sleep.

And then I hear it again. A heavy thump. My eyes shoot open. It’s closer this time. A creak pierces the silence. I know that creak. It’s the hinge on the porch’s screen door. The back porch. Just outside my bedroom. It takes every ounce of courage to roll over. I do it quietly, slowly, so as not to raise awareness of my form in the bed.

I clutch the duvet tighter. My gaze slides to the bedside lamp. I snake my hand from under the cover and freeze. If I turn it on and someone outside is watching, they’ll know exactly where I am. I yank my arm back under the cover.

I peer out the window and try to decipher the shadows that dance across the back porch, distorting the night. The screen door stands ajar, as if held there by an invisible hand. Suddenly, the door jerks backward and slams against the railing. I stifle a scream. The door bangs a second time and then abruptly slams shut.

I can’t move. The night grows still. My heart thuds like it wants out of my chest. A dog barks in the distance. 

I draw a deep breath and push myself upright. Moonlight beams through the window, transforming my nightshirt into a beacon. I grab my housecoat draped over a stack of boxes and shake my head. A grown woman afraid of the wind and alley cats. 

Hope of falling back to sleep anytime soon, flees. I pluck my cellphone from the bedside table and navigate by the moon’s light to the kitchen. To prove I’m not afraid, I don’t spare a glance for the back porch door.

When the kettle boils, I drop a chamomile tea bag into my cup and carry it to the living room. Best to leave the lights off so I don’t rouse myself any further. I snuggle into the armchair. With one hand curled around the hot cup and the other flipping through my Twitter feed, I think about crawling back into my warm bed.

I blow across the top of my cup and welcome a yawn, but a floor squeak cuts it short. A jolt of fear hits like a gut punch. Hot tea scalds my hand. The squeak came from the hallway. Near my bedroom.

Setting my tea aside, I listen. It’s an old house, I tell myself. You don’t yet know its rhythms. A calming breath does little to lift my fear. I steel myself to stand and start across the living room. When the floor squeak comes again, I stop short. Trembling, I tiptoe to the umbrella stand, pull out Jack’s baseball bat, and creep down the hall toward the back of the house.

The porch door’s deadbolt is locked. 

Relief floods my senses. I reach into the bedroom and flip on the light switch. No boogeyman. I chuckle at myself, pull the drapes closed, and turn the light off again before returning to the living room. Hopefully, my nerves will settle by the time I finish my tea. Scaredy cat. 

As I extend my arm to drop the baseball bat back into the umbrella stand, I glance at the front door’s deadbolt.

Unlocked.

Terror shoots through my veins. Bat in hand, I lock the deadbolt and back into the living room. I bump into the floor lamp and yelp, reaching to steady it. I fumble for the switch and turn it on, banishing nearby shadows. All the while, I scan the archways—one into the hallway and one into the dining room. The back of my leg touches the chair, and I shove it back until it hits the wall. I perch on the chair’s edge, gripping the bat with white knuckles. If I hear one more noise, I’m calling 911.

It feels like hours pass before I’m brave enough to sit comfortably in the chair. I’m cold. Eventually, I tuck in my legs and wrap them under my housecoat.

When the sun finally cracks the horizon, the room’s shadows fade. I lean Jack’s baseball bat within easy reach against the side of the chair and drift off to sleep.

Hours later, the room is engulfed in sunshine, and I have a crick in my neck from sleeping in an awkward position. The night’s fear has faded, and I feel foolish. With a renewed sense of bravado, I tour every room in the house, banishing ghosts and further convincing myself that I’d overreacted. At least I hadn’t embarrassed myself by calling 911.

After a shower and some breakfast, my mood is lighter, giddy almost, and I dress warmly to head outside for a brisk walk in the fresh air. I jog down the front steps and cut across the driveway, then spot the tin garbage can that the alley cats upset last night. It’s upright and standing in the middle of the driveway with its lid in place. A neighbour must have righted it.

I trot toward it and grab it by the handles to move it out of the way, but something unexpected rattles inside. I lift the lid and peer down. 

It’s Jack’s baseball bat. Splintered in two.

SECRET SKY! 

The stunning debut of The Gift Legacy Series

By critically acclaimed Supernatural Thriller Author J.P. Mclean

 

Published and released by Windstorm Press 

The book is available worldwide, in digital and print across all platforms!

An intrepid young woman. An incredible gift. A terrible price to pay.

 

Emelynn Taylor’s gift didn’t come wrapped in pretty paper and tied with a bow, nor can it ever be returned. Now, it’s taken over her life. It strikes without warning, strips her of gravity and sends her airborne, unchecked.

Haunted by terrifying flights she can’t control, Emelynn vows to take command of her dangerous gift. She returns to the seaside cottage where it all began. Here, she discovers an underground society whose members share her hidden ability, and a man who sends her heart soaring.

But the deeper Emelynn gets pulled into this secret society, the more she questions their motives. Are they using the gift for good or for evil? Unravelling the truth will plunge Emelynn into a fight for her freedom—and her life.

 

The first book in The Gift Legacy series, Secret Sky is a thriller that skirts the edges of reality in a world within our own. Buckle up and escape the ordinary: take flight with Emelynn Taylor. (Secret Sky was previously published as The Gift: Awakening)

 

AMAZON.CA:  Secret Sky: Amazon.ca: McLean, JP: Books

 

AMAZON.COM: Amazon.com: Secret Sky (The Gift Legacy Book 1) eBook: McLean, JP: Kindle Store

JP McLean

Author

JP McLean writes supernatural thrillers and urban fantasy with a provocative edge from her home on Denman Island, off Canada’s west coast. She is best known for her series, The Gift Legacy. When she’s not writing, you can find her growing spectacular weeds in the garden or making a mess in the kitchen. She’s a voracious reader, enjoys scuba diving, and has a weak spot for dogs and all things magical.

To read more of her short stories, sign up for her VIP readers’ club (you can unsubscribe at any time). Learn more about her at  JPMcLeanauthor.com. You can also connect with her on social media at Twitter (@jpmcleanauthor), Facebook (JPMcLeanBooks), and on Goodreads.

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