Bogeyman. Gayle Wilson

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      Blowing out an exasperated breath, she walked over to the boxes. She squatted before the first, trying to read the words she’d carefully printed in indelible marker as she’d packed them. Despite the occasional flare of lightning, that proved impossible. Why the hell hadn’t she brought the flashlight?

      Because you’re operating on too little sleep and too much stress.

      Putting her hand on the top of the box, she pushed herself up. Screw the candles. The flashlight would be enough.

      As long as it had working batteries. Given the way the night was going…

      She started across the parlor, heading back to the hall. With the lack of furniture in the room, her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as she crossed the wooden floor. Halfway to the door she realized that wasn’t all she was hearing.

      She stopped, tilting her head toward the hallway. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then the noise came again.

      Even over the omnipresent rain she could hear it. A low, muffled tapping.

      She had heard the same sound a couple of times before, always at night, and always as she lay in that state between waking and sleeping. It had seemed too much trouble to get up and locate the source then, but she’d better figure it out tonight or, combined with her feeling of anxiety about the storm, the noise would keep her awake. If there was anything she didn’t need, it was another night of interrupted sleep.

      A shutter? she wondered. Or a branch brushing against the house? Except there didn’t seem to be enough wind to cause either.

      She hurried into the front hall, once more stopping at the foot of the staircase. Again she cocked her head to listen.

      Other than the rain, the house was now silent. She took a breath of relief. In the middle of it, the tapping came again. Whatever its cause, it was definitely coming from upstairs.

      The faint light spilling out into the hall to the den reminded her that she had been headed to the kitchen to retrieve the flashlight. Once she had it, she’d go upstairs and locate whatever was making the racket. When that had been taken care of, she’d check on Maddie and then get into her own bed. Maybe they could manage to make it through one night without any further disturbances.

      The flashlight was lying on the counter where she’d put it when she’d started rummaging through the drawers. She picked it up and then walked over to check the dead bolt and chain lock on the back door. Both were secure.

      She pushed aside the sheer curtain that covered the glass top half of the door, intending to peer out into the darkness. For an instant her reflection made it seem as if someone was out there looking in at her. Although her realization of what she was really seeing was almost instantaneous, the jolt of adrenaline that initial sensation created caused her to jerk the fabric back over the pane.

      Still fighting that ridiculous surge of panic, she turned, taking a last look around the kitchen before she retraced her steps. She hesitated in the doorway, her fingers finding the switch several seconds before they pulled it down. She waited, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the sudden lack of light.

      This was her normal routine. Cutting off the lights down here and making her way up the stairs in the dark. Since she no longer closed Maddie’s door at night, she didn’t want to turn on the light at the top of the stairs and chance waking her.

      She hadn’t taken two steps into the hall before the tapping sounded again, seeming louder than before. Maybe the rain had slackened, allowing her to hear whatever was brushing against the house more clearly.

      As she started toward the stairs, she pushed the button on the flashlight forward with her thumb. A narrow cone of light appeared before her, but before she could focus it on the bottom step, it blinked out.

      “Damn it.” Angry at herself for not making better preparations in case of an emergency, she shook the flashlight. The batteries rattled inside their metal case, and almost miraculously, the light reappeared, this time without wavering.

      At least she knew what to do if she really needed the thing. Which she didn’t right now.

      She slid the button back into the off position, conserving what life was left in the batteries. Putting her left hand on the banister, she began to climb the narrow stairs. Halfway up, the tapping began again.

      This time she didn’t stop to listen. She took the last few risers in a rush, trying to get to the top of the staircase so that she could determine the direction from which the sound was coming. By the time she’d reached the upstairs hall, however, there was only the noise of the rain.

      Check on Maddie. Maybe by the time she’d done that, whatever she was hearing would sound again.

      She walked down the hall, guided by the nightlight she’d put in Maddie’s room after the first of the terrors. A flare of lightning, turning the night sky as bright as day, illuminated the window at the end of the hallway. It was immediately followed by a boom of thunder that literally shook the house.

      Certain that some object nearby had been struck, Blythe waited, her heart in her throat, for the sound of a falling tree or for Maddie’s screams. When neither occurred, she continued down the hall, her eyes fastened on the dark panes of the window at its end.

      In the faint light provided by the night-light, she could see her reflection again, distorted by the mullions and the waviness of the old glass. Given the multiple images portrayed in the window, she had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder to make sure she was alone.

      She turned into Maddie’s room, expecting the little girl to be as distraught by the storm as she was. Instead, Maddie was lying on her side, just as she had been when Blythe had gone downstairs. Her eyes were closed.

      Instead of the relief she should have felt, Blythe’s first reaction was a renewed sense of uneasiness. How could the child sleep through the noise of the storm?

      She tiptoed closer to the bed, spending a few seconds watching the regular rise and fall of Maddie’s breathing. The little girl’s lashes rested unmoving against her cheek.

      Although her inclination was to pull the piled quilts over her daughter’s small, exposed shoulder, Blythe stepped back from the bed. It would be stupid to take a chance on waking Maddie, who was obviously fine.

      And obviously dealing with the storm much better than you are.

      Blythe turned, intending to make her way to her own bedroom. If she couldn’t sleep, there was a sack of paperbacks that her grandmother had pressed on her when she’d picked Maddie up after work yesterday. Most of them would be romances, but maybe that was exactly what she needed. Something positive. Life affirming. With a happily-ever-after guarantee.

      She had already reached the doorway to Maddie’s room when the tapping came from behind her. She whirled, looking immediately toward the window to her right.

      There was no doubt in her mind that something had struck its glass. She walked across the room, leaning over the small secretary she’d placed in front of the window.

      Below was the roof of a narrow screened porch that had been added to the original structure. There were no trees. No branches to brush against the house, even if there had been enough wind to move them. And, she remembered, there were no shutters on the windows СКАЧАТЬ