Yellow Eyed Thing

There was a hiss of air as the door swung open. She gripped her guitar like a baseball bat. The strings digging into her fingers.Tara heard a noise emanating from somewhere in the house. She crept out of her room peering through the other bedrooms and then into the living room.

She entered the kitchen; cold air seizing her body. The door to the carport was ajar. Tara’s shoulders drooped and she leaned her guitar against the fridge. One of her roommates must have come home briefly and not made sure the door latched properly when they closed it. She didn’t have enough strength to hate this behavior anymore; she resigned herself to a numb resentment.

Bracing herself against the cold as she went to close the door; she glimpsed the carport light that was always on, adding its weak luminescence to the late Autumn day. They’d never been able to find the switch for it. 

She swung her guitar back into her arms as an instrument and not a weapon this time deciding to return it to her room before making some lunch. Outside her room, her eyes darted to the white linen closet door. Her body tensed. There was just enough space for someone to hide there. 

She placed the guitar against the ground as she threw open the closet door quickly, taking a step back and swinging the guitar back into her hands. Only the flowers on the contact paper greeted her. The empty hallway yawned between her and her room. The house was empty. The silence hung like fog in the air and she knew that she’d been in the house alone all day. She inhaled to take a deep breath but her chest hitched. She tried to stay calm anyway. The guitar made a soft thunk as she returned it to its holder. Her eyes lingering on the hummingbird painted on the front.

She rubbed her temples; something was wrong with her. Paranoia had her in its teeth. She was by herself in the house most days but she was deeply certain she wasn’t alone. Every creak or strange noise urgently pulled her out of her room to check for an intruder. The company she could always feel but never find.  

Since she’d moved into this house her consciousness was fraying. Tara returned to the kitchen immersing herself in the scent of the coffee she was brewing. She rubbed her eyes, waiting. She jolted at the shrill screech of the coffee maker. She wasn't sure what had been making her more tired lately. Persistent nightmares she couldn’t quite remember, sharp teeth, long claws, the knowledge that she was prey or the needling dread that accompanied her waking hours. 

She spilled the coffee as she poured it. Muttering curses; she bent to clean it up.

Maybe it was just being a woman living on her own? Don't all women feel like this? Wasn’t this the price of independence? Her roommates were often gone for days in a row staying with their girlfriends. This left her alone when she wasn't at work or coffee shop music nights. 

Breaking her lease would take a chunk of her savings. It was only for a few more months. She could endure.

She returned to her bedroom; the remaining coffee in a mug warming her hands. She settled, cross legged, onto her mattress which was the only place to sit in her room. The sheets in disarray from her sleep. She closed her eyes. 

A woman stood in the corner. Her shoulder length hair in snarls. Her knee length dress ragged. Yellow glowing eyes pinning Tara to the bed.

Her eyes flew open. The corner of her tiny room only a few feet away but there was nothing there. Tara gulped the coffee burning her mouth a little; she hoped the caffeine would keep those yellow eyes exclusively in her nightmares.

                                    …

That night she fell into more uneasy dreams. She strummed her guitar pausing to jot down the new melody. The guitar was wrenched from her hands as she yelped. Staring up into the glowing eyes of the old woman. Her gray pallor was a stark contrast to Tara’s rosy one. The crone bared her jagged, sharp teeth shining with saliva.

“Give it back!” Tara reached for her guitar anger over taking her surprise. She tried to wrestle the guitar from the crone's claws but she wasn't strong enough. The crone's paper thin arms had a vice-like grip on her instrument.

They grappled before the crone sunk her claws into the back of Tara’s hand. A screech escaped her as she sat up in bed. She scrambled out of bed; she flicked on the light. Her eyes darted around the room. There was no one there and her guitar rested in its holder. She looked down; a startled hiss escaping her. A terrible ache stemmed from under the angry red skin on the back of her hand. She started pacing, cradling the injury against her chest.

She looked around the room again. Explanations flicked through her mind. Maybe she’d hit her hand against something when she was asleep. Maybe the nightmare was just a manifestation of that pain. Maybe…

A mournful twang came from the corner. One of her guitar strings had snapped. She stood wide eyed, staring at the guitar, letting all the explanations slip through her fingers.

It was time to go. A full bank account wasn’t worth this. Fuck independence! She swept her wallet, keys and cellphone into one hand and grabbed the guitar with the other. She didn't bother with shoes. She barreled through the house fumbling with the door to the carport that she now regretted locking. 

A blast of cold night air made her shiver as pine straw that had blown into the carport stabbed her feet. For once she was grateful for the constant companion of the carport light. Pain shot up her legs as she banged her knees on the guitar, clambered into the driver's seat of her car. Roughly throwing everything but her keys into the passenger seat. 

The car sprang to life. The clock flashing three fifteen A.M. She palmed the gear shift, breathing rapidly as she threw it into reverse. As she reached the end of the driveway she pulled out onto the street. Tara looked back once as she shifted her car into drive. Her eyes met layered shadows. The carport light had gone out but she knew somewhere in that darkness yellow eyes were still watching her.