Cutting Discord

Short Story by Sandi

The door was locked.

            I was sure I turned the lock to unlock before I opened it inside. Now I can’t get back in. I stared at the door willing it to open but it remained locked and shut. I was on the outside.

            I was sure someone was watching me now. I made it a priority to get off the front steps.

            I made my way around the side of the house. I crouched low under the windows. What was I hiding from? I laughed.

            The back door was locked also. Darn. I’ll try a window. The bathroom!

            The upper catch lock was turned, I could see it from ground level. That meant I had left it unlocked. Now for a boost up.

            I grabbed a patio chair. Time to break my neck while being sneaky. Just my style.

            I crept up to the window, peered over the ledge, and pushed gently, quietly. The sill rose on cue. No one was going to hear it. Who was listening but me? I asked myself. A quiet raspberry to me. I looked in and then decided to give it the heave-ho up and over. I did it!

            Over the toilet and onto the floor. More stealth than a snake in a fox hole. I stood up and peered around the doorway and into the hall. The coast was clear.

            I listened. There were squeaks in the floor boards somewhere in the house. The stairs? The bedroom? I waited. I needed to arm myself, just in case.

I took the toilet plunger. It was better than nothing.

            I stepped into the hall and listened. My heart was beating in the same vibration mode as an overactive drum.  I had to breathe quietly to still the walloping inside my chest. I proceeded to search out those squeaking footsteps.

            Off to the right! I followed the clue. I raised my plunger as the door to the bedroom swung open a bit. My heart stopped, literally.

            I am not a rock. My insides were Jello. I was still close to the bathroom, but I would hate to die while sitting on the toilet. Lord, help me be safe, find the intruder and keep my dinner inside my body. Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus. Amen.

            I approached the bedroom, I listened, the room was still; the door remained ajar; I heard the footsteps above me. I headed for the stairs instead.

Before I could chicken out, I needed to find out if someone was in the house with me.

            I help my plunger high. I tiptoed up the steps. This was getting on my nerves.

            Who locked the door? What was behind those squeaks? Why IS SOMEONE IN MY HOUSE!?

            The house should have been locked tight but then again, the bathroom window was open. I did do that occasionally when I needed fresh air during the day.

            Oh, what was wrong with me? I must be losing my mind. I am in plain sight, armed with nothing but a large suction cup on a stick and walking right into their hands.

            I started to cry. I was frustrated and scared. I stopped. Wait!

            I was going to unlock the front door now! I needed an escape route. Or maybe they would use it. No delays, just get OUT!

            I heard footsteps again; this is crazy! I started back up, gradually, one step at a time.

            When I got to the second floor, I glanced hurriedly both ways and strained my ears for any sound.

            The floorboards were quiet, but my heart was pounding. I flattened myself to the wall. I slithered down the side of the hallway profoundly, hoping no one would actually come out of one room. I would die on the spot from a heart attack. I was waiting for a head to come around the corner.

Unfortunately, that head is attached to a body that was armed with more than a sewage stick like me.

            The cat must be somewhere in this house. Probably asleep as usual, or watching and smiling evilly at my antics.

            I reached a closed bedroom door. I was seriously afraid. No kidding. I stretched out my hand to the doorknob. It was cold as ice. Or was that my hand? I had to do this. I turned the knob, slowly.

            I swung the door into the room and held the plunger out.

            No gunshot. That means no trigger-happy intruder at least.

            Silence.

            I peered into the room. There was a bathroom off of this bedroom. I saw a shadow.

            My mind went numb. I had to think. Was it worth the risk?

            “Let’s go buster, I’m ready for you.” I rushed into the room. I hit the bathroom door. It propelled inward.

            I was face to face with my enemy. I fainted.

            I woke up in the hospital. There were medications running through my system via the I.V.  A nurse was staring down at her watch. My pulse seemed normal. Her eyes shot up at my sudden movement. Our glances met. She told me to wait. She would get a doctor.

            The doc came in and took one look at me and then shook his head.

            “What?!”

            “You screamed bloody murder, fainted and the neighbor lady came running in and saved you from possible danger.” The doc was might serious.

            “What happened to the murderer in my house?” I exclaimed.

            “She fainted; it was you. You are your own worst enemy.” Doc sat down. He continued.

            I stared.

            “No one else was in the house. The police say there never was. Except maybe the cat. You saw yourself in the bathroom mirror and dropped over.”

            “How can this be?” I was befuddled.

            “You are your own worst enemy. Overactive imagination.”

Sandi Todd lives in WI. She has published in the G.E.M.S. Sparkle, ‘What Could I Do’.