Pitter Patter

 Pitter Patter

By: Tanya Larsen

“Tap, tap, tap.” Linda heard the sound and groaned inwardly. Terror crept up into every nook of her body. Barely able to bring the covers any tighter against her grizzled, gray hair, she let out a whimper without realizing it and ended up scaring herself with the foreign sound.

She wished she could scream, 'GO AWAY!' but knew from previous instances that this would only enrage whoever or whatever this was. She held her breath for what seemed like hours, the silence heavy with dread.

“Tap, tap, tap.” How long had it been? An hour? Two? Didn't matter. She exhaled violently and drew in ragged breaths. She knew it was long enough for her to start dozing off, which she found bewildering. Her breathing was raspy and her body was frozen. This had been going on for four nights and she had no idea of what else to do. She had checked for the usual suspects (always by the light of day). No branches or trees were close enough to reach. No high winds that could account for a loose roofing tile. No close neighbors who would have an arduous young man attempting to woo their daughter. Nothing.

She had taken to extinguishing all lights before bedtime, even the soft glow of the many devices throughout the room designed to make life easier when, really, they were the very culprits that would keep her from sleep most nights. Her thoughts being that maybe if they couldn't see her, they would think she, also, couldn't hear them and they would desist. Linda was, unfortunately, mistaken. Here they were, night five, and her visitors were as relentless as usual.

Then, something happened which she would never have expected from herself: she got irritated. She was tired, she was scared and she was starting to get pissed. Not irate, just good, old fashioned angry. She was cowering in fear and, honestly, didn't know what it was that was after her. It could be anything.

The first to go through her mind was what a heroine from one of her novel would do. The romance genre required a male hero and as she was widowed, counted that one out. Then she shifted to the Miss Marple variety and had images of booby traps and clues being played out.

“Tap, tap, tap.” Linda actually became angry at the interruption to her train of thought. Unconsciously, she yelled out a 'leave me be!' and then recoiled at the sound of her own voice, having dared escaped her lips.

What to do? Somehow, during her mental visage of heroics, she had sat up in bed. Heretofore, she had only dared hide under the covers and cower. And, to her shock, not only was she sitting up, her blankets had pooled about her waist and she found herself reaching for the bedside lamp. Reality hit fast and she withdrew her hand into her lap. But, she did not lay back down.

She waited.

Feeling like the RCA dog with her head cocked to one side on hyper alert, she listened for any sound, movement or any indication that someone was out there. She forced herself to breathe as she had held her breath in anticipation of the next round of window knocking.

“Tap, tap, tap.” Mortified at her traitorous body, she watched herself rise up from the bed and walk gingerly towards the window.

What she saw sent chills up and down her spine. More so due to the fact that her brain could not make sense of what she was seeing.

A pair of the largest, wildest antlers she had ever seen were sprouting from the head of the meatiest, muscled stag known to man. He stared her in the eye as if he could see her very soul. Perched on the topmost branch of this tree of a set of antlers was a crow of equally large size. Black as night she could almost not see him. Linda might have missed him had it not been for the glint of yellow she caught from the corner of her eye. The bird looked at her insistently, seeming to beckon to her. Its head twitched left three times and she looked in the direction of its head.

She focused hard into the blackened night, not seeing what she supposed should be there. Raising her gnarled, arthritic hands up to the glass and cupped them around her eyes to block out any extra light, she centered her gaze on a spot on the lawn which was at the edge of her orchard of beautiful apple trees she had reared from childhood. There, under the very first tree she had planted with her father was her father, waiting with open arms.

Her eyes welled with tears at the sight of the man that she had viewed with such admiration and devotion for her entire life. No longer haggard and gaunt from battling cancer all those long, horrible years, he stood tall and strong and smiling from his soul as she had always remembered.

She found herself running towards him through the moist grass, paying no heed to sticks or stones in her path.

“How can this be, da?” Tears welled and overflowed freely from her beautiful green eyes. He simply nodded, reached out for her hands and squeezed them ever so gently. She turned her head slightly towards the house attempting to take in all that was occurring. There she was, long, gray ponytail almost reaching the ground, arms outstretched as if reaching for some small trinket she couldn't see on the ground. Her form slumped over the sill lifeless.

She turned to her father questioningly and cocked her head to the side. He simply smiled, squeezed her hands which no longer hurt and released one hand as he beckoned with his eyes for her to come with him.

She stepped gingerly, at first, but then found herself eventually running through the most beautiful field of sunflowers she had ever seen. Corn blue, yellow and white, until it all began to whiz by her too fast and the sun and the light shone so bright she could hardly stand it.

She was finally home.