by C. J. Anaya
Chapter Four
Click click. Click click.
I stood still for a minute, listening.
Click click.
What in the world?
It sounded like acrylic nails tapping a hardwood floor. I walked slowly out of the kitchen and made my way down the hall, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. When I approached the entrance to the living room the clicking stopped abruptly. I stopped as well, holding my breath, listening. The silence that filled the house was beginning to make me feel slightly uncomfortable, and for the first time I wondered if maybe I was actually in some kind of danger.
I’m an idiot. One psychotic delusion, and suddenly everyone is out to get me.
Click click.
This time it was coming from the dining room to my right.
Delusional or not, I was officially freaked out. Getting out of the house seemed like a reasonable conclusion to come to, but fear had paralyzed me, leaving my legs frozen and unresponsive even though the need to flee was intensifying.
I could have been blowing things out of proportion, right? Homes made funny noises all the time. I was simply more aware of it now because…because…well, someone had tried to kill me last night. Hadn’t they?
The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I began to hear the faint sound of footsteps behind me. All of my weak attempts at thinking rationally flew out the window as panic took over, and I whirled around, sprinting for the front door. I ran into a hard sturdy figure blocking my way, causing me to fall butt first on the hardwood floor. I let out a squeal of surprise, jumped up blindly, and lifted my fist to deck whoever it was that was threatening my safety.
“Whoa, Hope. What’s wrong with you?”
I looked up, startled to see my dad standing there in front of me instead of the crazy ax murderer I was expecting.
“Dad? You scared the living poop outta me,” I practically shouted. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he said in confusion.
I stared at him hard trying to figure out if he was being serious or sarcastic.
“Yes, I am well aware that you live here. I’m talking about the note you left saying you got called in to the hospital. What are you doing back so soon?”
The look on my father’s face was making it abundantly clear that I had baffled him. I thought about grabbing the note from the fridge and waving it in his face, but his expression switched from puzzlement to embarrassment.
“Right. The note. Turns out they didn’t need me after all.”
His words came out slow and hesitant.
“Dad, are you all right?” Something certainly wasn’t right. The hospital always needed my father. I continued staring at him, trying to pinpoint what it was about him that was different.
“Of course I am, darling. I’m just a bit tired. I’m feeling a little sick, actually. Maybe you could make it better for me?” He said it like he wasn’t sure I could.
“Make what better for you, and how? And since when do you call me darling? A little formal don‘t you think?”
Now I was really confused. I hadn’t sensed my father was ill the night before. I had a habit of checking on him whenever I gave him a hug or a squeeze on the hand. He was all I had left, and I wasn’t going to lose him. I was certain he wasn’t coming down with anything, but something was definitely off about him.
He acted like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. Then he gave me an awkward smile and took several steps backward.
“Well, you should probably be getting to school now. Don’t you think?” His backward stride began to pick up momentum.
I stood uncertain in the hallway watching him continue to put distance between us.
“Uh, sure, Dad. You’ll be okay then?”
“Yeah.” He turned away quickly and swung himself towards the bottom of the staircase.
I listened as my father stomped up the stairs, entered his bedroom and shut the door loudly behind him.
What the crap?
I moved to the front door, grabbed my backpack from off the ground, and walked outside to my car. My beat up Chevy wasn’t much, but it was mine. I climbed in and set my backpack on the passenger seat, all the while sensing that someone was watching me. It was the same sensation I’d felt last night on the way home from work. I looked up and saw my father staring down from his bedroom window.
What is going on with him?
I considered getting out of my truck and going back inside to figure out what was really happening here, but the idea of entering my own home made me feel nervous. Without understanding why, I quickly backed out of the driveway and pulled away from the house.
I studied the tree in Mrs. Simmons’ front yard as I passed by. It looked completely unscathed. I pulled over to the side of the road and quickly climbed out of my truck. I had to get a closer look. After reaching the tree in two running strides, I stared up at the perfectly browned bark with its rough and slightly weathered texture. Not a burn mark on it. There was absolutely no sign that it had been torched last night. I glanced around, still feeling like I was being watched.
“I am losing my freaking mind,” I muttered under my breath.
I returned to my truck and headed for the high school. As I glanced in my rearview mirror I could have sworn I saw another flash of that very odd looking cat, a cat with two tails.
