The Secret

by Carmen Botman



  The Secret

  by Carmen Botman

  Copyright 2014 Carmen Botman

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this story with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. All characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events are purely coincidental.

  Cover photo: Copyright of Mdruda from Dreamstime

  Marjory and Leonard sat on their usual comfortable settee in the lounge as they watched the weather lady on TV predicting that a storm was on its way. Pointing to the electronic map elegantly, she said that the weather would probably make landfall within the next half hour or so. Marjory nervously fidgeted with the faded brown arm of the piece of furniture she was sitting on with her knobbly arthritic fingers. She hated thunderstorms. Leonard’s right leg bobbed up and down rapidly as he continued to watch the bulletin. The weather lady was saying that their senior meteorologist had classified the upcoming storm as severe. Leonard ran a hand across his thinning grey hair and sighed. Marjory and Leonard had been married for fifty three years. They had lived in this neighbourhood in this very house for just as long. And for as long as they had lived here, they hated thunderstorms.

  “Would you like a cup of tea, Dear?” Marjory asked in a quiet voice as she smoothed her pink floral apron with the abundant frills. The weather report had ended.

  “A quick one, I suppose, before we get started,” her husband sighed and heavily pushed himself up from his seat. He reached for his cane and shuffled his way across the short distance between the lounge and the outdated kitchen to fill the kettle, while Marjory prepared two cups sharing one teabag between them.

  They sat in silence at the rickety old kitchen table as they drank their tea.

  “Sugar, Love?” asked Leonard and pushed the container towards his wife, who waved her hand in refusal. Her diabetes would not allow it.

  As they sipped from their cups in dead silence, they could hear the thunder approaching in the far distance. Marjory’s cup rattled slightly on her saucer as she placed it on the table. She had only drunk about a third of the brew. The storm was getting closer and she had no appetite for the rest. Leonard drained his cup quickly, grabbed his cane and stood up with purpose.

  “Shall we get started, then?” he asked quietly, to which Marjory nodded timidly and stood up.

  As the thunder slowly started making its way closer and closer, the old couple closed all the windows and drew all the curtains of their humble home. Leonard dragged a heavy wooden chest from the centre of the lounge towards the end of the kitchen with great difficulty. They used to do that together before, but Marjory’s arthritis hindered her. Since his stroke, his right leg was not as strong as it used to be, but he still managed to do it. Marjory turned up the television set to the highest volume possible. She then switched on their old hi-fi and increased the volume on it to the maximum as well. In the kitchen, the pair methodically packed up and locked away all the glassware and any cutlery that had been standing on the countertops. Marjory quickly rinsed the cups and saucers they had just used and packed those away as well. Leonard checked the cutlery drawer and did a quick inventory of all the knives before locking it with a tiny key. He had done this so many times that he knew exactly how many bread knives, steak knives and butter knives they had in their possessions, along with the rest. The fact that they hadn’t bought anything new in about twenty years also helped. He then went over to the key rack and removed a bunch of keys that had been hanging there from it. This too went into a drawer which was then locked with the same tiny key. Leonard placed the kitchen cabinets’ skeleton key in his pocket. The couple now stood quietly in the centre of the kitchen and slowly looked around the house, making mental notes to check that everything had been done. Their gazes met.

  “Is that everything?” enquired Marjory softly.

  “I think so,” her husband replied and let out a deep sigh. They were getting too old for this.

  He removed a cell phone from his trouser pocket, probably the only bit of modern technology in their house and placed it in the centre of the table. The couple once again sat down at their round kitchen table. Marjory folded her hands on her lap and stared down quietly at her fingers. Leonard’s right leg started bobbing up and down again as soon as he sat down. All they could do now was wait and hope that the storm would pass quickly.

  The thunder was getting closer now. The lounge lit up with a streak of lightning as if they were watching fire crackers on New Years’ Eve.

  “One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, five-one thousand, six-one thousand,” Leonard counted. The crack of thunder sounded before he made it to seven.

  “One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand,” he counted again. The storm was drawing nearer. As the thunder whipped, Marjory and Leonard felt the deep rumblings coming from the bowels of their home. Marjory gripped the frills of her apron tightly and closed her eyes. It was beginning. Oh how she hated thunderstorms!

  “One-one thousand, two-one thousand,” he counted. As the thunder roared, an unmistakable growl could be heard coming from deep within the house.

  Marjory let out a little cry and Leonard reached out for her hand to comfort her. They were really were getting too old for this.

  “One-one thousand.” This time the growl was barbaric. Guttural. It sent chills up their spines and they quaked where they sat with their eyes tightly closed.

  The old lady jumped as the cell phone lit up and vibrated on the table with Beethoven’s Ode to Joy sounding tinny on the newfangled contraption. She stared at Leonard as he quickly popped on his spectacles to check who was calling.

  “It’s Sheila,” he mouthed to his wife as he pressed the green button.

  “Hello, Sheila,” he said politely.

  “No, no. Everything’s just fine. The growling noise? It’s just the TV we’ve got up loud. Marjory’s hearing, you know. No, we’re absolutely fine. Marjory? She’s right here,” he said and handed the phone to his wife.

  “Hello, Sheila,” she said, trying to consciously calm herself. Just then, another growl was heard so loudly this time, that it sounded as if it came from right next to them.

  “That growl? It’s the TV dear. You know my hearing’s going. Is it bothering you? I could turn it down. No? Alright, then. Thanks for calling. Regards to Martin. Goodbye,” she said and ended the call, relieved that it was over.

  Meanwhile Leonard had gone over to where he had pulled the heavy chest. Pushing against it with his shins he made sure that it was as secure as possible. Satisfied that it was, he shuffled his way back to the table and sat down.

  The list of telephone calls they usually received during storms was predictable. Either Sheila or Martin would call from next door. Old Tony from across the street would call. Apart from them, he had been living in this street the longest. They were old friends. And then there was Alfred Davis. Alfred Davis the Third, to be exact. He was the newest addition to this street and had moved in next to Marjory and Leonard about five, maybe six years prior. He was an attorney and always had complaints about the old couple ‘disturbing the peace.’ During the last storm, he had told them to “get some hearing aids and stop being pests.”

  But there was absolutely nothing that Marjory and Leonard could do. Their hands were tied. The rate and volume of the growls increased exponentially as the storm progressed. Hail battered against the closed window panes and the wind howled and whistled outside, finding its way into the house underneath the doors and down the chimney. The rattling of the walls was becoming violent now and the chest which Leonard had secured started shifting from its spot.

>   The cell phone rang again. Leonard reassured Old Tony that everything was fine. One minute later Alfred Davis called.

  “I am warning you,” the attorney was saying, “If this noise doesn’t stop, I will call the police, old man.”

  “Alfred, please. It’s just until the storm’s over. We can’t hear a thing over this thunder. Once it’s stopped we’ll turn the TV down,” Leonard pleaded. “Hello? Hello?”

  “What is it?” asked Marjory nervously.

  “He hung up. He said he’d call the police.”

  Marjory shivered. She knew that it would eventually come to this. They’d already tried everything they could think of, but nothing seemed to work. They sat helplessly at the kitchen table and prayed for the storm to end.

  Ten minutes had passed when they heard a knock at the front door. Leonard and Marjory got up to answer it together. The flashing blue lights could be seen through their drawn curtains. They both inhaled deeply as Leonard unlocked the door, turned the handle and placed a smile on his face.

  “Good evening, Mr and Mrs Pettinger,” the officer at the door said politely and a bit sheepishly. He had been to this house twice before. The first time had been