The Leaves Are Hushed

The Leaves are Hushed Alone she stares through a skylight playing I spy with the sky, creating fantastical creatures out of skimming, brimming clouds. Suddenly a shadow swiftly smears a window staining its filmy, hazed glass; a corrugated feeling, firm and undulating settles steel-hard in her stomach. Hurriedly her hand reaches for her heart but it isn’t there……., it’s replaced by a beating drum which beats and repeats the words: Someone somehow has been outside, somewhere sometime staring inside! Fear begins to mock-shock, taunting, teasing her thoughts sharpening, tightening like countersunk screws then she hears…. silence creeping towards her. Shockingly as if reinforcing her worry… a door creaks, a floor shrieks, a foot whispers and the leaves… are hushed as a hand prepares to….. strike. Outside the evening’s flag of sky has rolled itself tightly up allowing the dark to leak-sneak everywhere…… even inside her head. Abruptly there’s an escape from the night-tight tension; a car’s headlights torch the side of the house and a yellow warmth washes her room. Instantly the leaves agitated and distressed begin sprinting in different directions seeking out safety from the ominous threat while the girl’s corrugated stomach is shredded. Immediately she flees to her bedroom window sees her parent’s car and relief floods her but a shimmer in the shade of the shadows reveals the hand still…. ready to strike. Ian Souter