Chapter three: Bamboo Cane

My sister and I lay on the floor, frozen in place, straining to hear if the creaking will repeat itself. It doesn’t. I glance over my shoulder. Mom and Grandma are still asleep. Dad has not emerged from his bedroom, demanding to know what the hell that sound was.

 

Only we heard it.

 

Melinda’s watching me, waiting to see what I do next, so I surprise us both by getting to my feet. She gets to hers and we consider our options. Waking the parents is out of the question. They’ll point to the scary movie, the storm and the late hour and tell us we were hearing things.

 

No, if we want someone to look around upstairs and make sure everything’s all right, it’ll have to be us.

 

We make our way through the dining room and kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, tuning on every light as we go. I flip the switch for the upstairs hall light, braced for the sight of a desperate man staring down at us, but the hall is empty.

 

Slowly, my sister and I climb the stairs, carefully avoiding the seventh step. She stands behind me while I snake an arm into each of our bedrooms to flip on the overhead lights. She stands in the doorway while I check under each of our beds. All’s clear.

 

I throw open my closet door.

 

Nothing is standing on the other side, but as I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, I notice the attic door is open, just a crack. My arms ripple with gooseflesh. I’m backing away when wind gusting through the attic vent pushes the door open half an inch wider. When it dies down, the door’s laughable latch keeps the door from closing all the way.

 

I kick it shut. Then I grab the bamboo cane that’s leaning in a corner of the closet and hang it from the top of the attic’s door frame. It’s an alarm system of sorts. If the door opens again, the cane will fall, alerting me.

 

A short time later I fall into a fitful sleep, unaware that the day about to dawn will be the most terrifying of my life.

 

To be continued...

Done