The Living Room

Gray light washed over the sofa through the bare, dusty window where a rusty Pixie-Bob cat sprawled across two of the drooping cushions. A walnut coffee table that stood in the centre of the room bore the scratches of a hundred Monopoly games. A girl, dressed in faded blue jeans and a graying white T-shirt sat cross-legged on the floor, reading a book.  The porch door croaked a long sigh and the sound of floor boards moaning could be heard as the girl’s grandfather entered the house. The smell of Old Spice filled the air.

***

A beam of sunshine danced across the sofa causing a marmalade cat to play swat.  One pounce. Two pounces. And the cat flew from the couch to the coffee table where he quickly skidded to a halt but not before colliding with the girl, whose head was resting upon the edge of the table.  She dropped the book she was reading, turned and stuck her tongue out at the cat who replied with a swift but gentle paw across her face.  The girl laughed and then rubbed the top of the cat’s head until a purr sprung from its throat.

The sound of the porch door swinging open sent the cat scurrying into the kitchen.  The girl listened for the patter of her grandfather’s steps but it was the smell of Old Spice that confirmed he was home.  She hid behind the long, yellow curtains that framed the window and willed herself not to giggle.

***

Rain pelts the window and a cold, damp draft seeps through the cracks in its lining. The glow of a single candle casts a jaundiced haze over the room. The girl on the sofa shivers and wraps the blanket tighter around her body. A cat, claws extended, clings to the armrest. A waft of air fans the pages of a book perched on the edge of the coffee table.  The cat jumps.  The girl screams.  A flash of lightning lights the room.

The sound of tires grinding against gravel drives the girl head first underneath the blanket. She mouths a silent but forceful prayer.  A door slams.  Feet pound pavement as the girl’s whimpers compete with the growling wind. 

The porch door whacks against the side of the house and the sound of a man cursing fills the girl’s ears.  She pokes her head out, craning her neck to sneak a glimpse of the figure standing in the kitchen.  A gust of bitter wind suffocates the candle and the room grows charcoal.  The figure steps forward and the girl ducks back beneath the blanket. The stench of tobacco, Old Spice and damp cotton thickens the air.

***