The Storm

I was alone in the cabin. Everyone else had gone fishing. It was then that I became aware of something strange in the dark and ominous sky. It looked like a funnel cloud, but the funnel cloud wasn’t what was scaring me the most.
I had the horrible perception of being watched. I turned to my right, and then a light flashed on to my left. I turned quickly, my heart racing. The light was coming from the window. “Good, my family is home,” I thought.
I raced out the front door, but the headlights piercing the darkness from my mother’s Aston Martin Vanquish were nowhere to be seen.
The wind was whipping through the trees so hard that I expected to see Mary Poppins and her umbrella tossed among the black clouds at any moment. I could feel the hair all over my body standing on end. Something wasn’t right.
I slowly crept back towards the log cabin, my senses alert. I saw lightning flash somewhere in the east, and then the rain poured down as if the lightning had ripped a gaping hole in the bottom of an ocean in heaven.
I bolted all the doors and locked the windows, but I still didn’t feel safe. I heard a loud pop. The lights began to flicker and then went out completely. I felt my way around the dark kitchen until I found the only flashlight we had at the cabin. I reached for the telephone, but then I remembered that the power was out, and my cell phone had no service.
I shivered, but not from the wind’s cold breath. Chills began to creep up and down my body like ants. Something just was not right. I pondered for a moment, and then went back outside to the garage. I opened the switchbox and was horrified at my discovery. All the wires had been cut.
I ran back inside and relocked the kitchen door. Breathing hard, I ran through the cabin and into the basement, the beam of yellow from my flashlight guiding my way. I grabbed some dark-colored blankets from the corner and tried to hide myself.
A storm was raging, both outside and in my mind. “Why is this happening? Who is here?” I asked myself. I peeked past one of the blankets and nearly had a heart attack.
There was a dark figure moving about the room. I dared not move. The figure was stooped low as if searching for something. It moved sideways and there was a clatter as the shadowy intruder bumped into something—my father’s fishing poles.
I realized the flashlight was still turned on lying on the floor next to me. I was thankful it had been covered by the blankets as well, for the figure did not see the rays coming from it.
I made a grab for the flashlight, but bumped it instead, and it went rolling across the floor. Light splashed the wall beside the slouching figure, and the person jumped upright and slowly crept backwards, slipping on the unseen body of the flashlight and crashing to the ground two feet in front of me. I fought at screams.
The intruder lay sprawled on the floor for a moment, and then arose. I saw from the jerky movements that the figure was a man. He walked cautiously up the stairs, and, to my dismay, I decided to follow.
To my relief, I heard the most beautiful sound through the rain—the crunching of gravel. I wasn’t the only one that heard it. The man struck out the back door and disappeared in the downpour. I collapsed on the couch.
A door slammed, and I found myself retelling the encounter. My brother looked at me as if I were crazy. “Honey, it was only a dream. You were asleep on the couch,” my mother said.
“No, no!” I pleaded. “It was real!”
I examined my crowd and knew it was no use to beg because of the disbelieving looks on their faces.
Seeing as the lights were still out, and that I was so shaken and scared, we decided to leave immediately. I calmed as we began our journey home. As I looked out the window, I thought I caught a glimpse of a face peering out at me from behind some bushes.
No, it couldn’t be real. It had to my imagination… hopefully. I laid my head back on the seat and settled into a much needed slumber.





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