This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Inara Reynolds
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Book cover by Inara Reynolds
Jellybones Part Eight
October 30th, 2016 cont...
I don’t know how long I had been out; I woke up to find myself tied to a chair. The cat sat in my lap, letting out a content purr as he groomed himself; as if I was merely a piece of furniture. I tried to squirm out of the rope; I needed to free my hands. The cat was annoyed by my movements, and let out a loud yowl in warning. I ignored him and continued trying to free myself from the chair.
His claws felt like molten steel as they sunk into the denim of my jeans and finally plunged into the flesh of my legs. I screamed in pain, feeling the blood start to bubble from my wounds.
I looked out of the broken window; the sky had turned into a brilliant glow of red and oranges, embracing its light around the old mill. There was a false sense of peace as the sun went lower into the horizon, and if the demon cat had not fallen back to sleep in my lap, I could have found security in the scene outside the window.
The sweet smell of my fresh blood mingled with Sam’s blood that had started to smell like decaying meat. I watched as the sun dipped its last below the horizon, and my thoughts began to dwell on my husband who lay dead on our couch. My plan on confronting his killer had gone awry. I should have called the cops and let them handle this mess.
I had drifted off to sleep, hopeless in my attempt to free myself from the chair. The building had begun to shake, waking me up from my slumber as the chair fell backward to the floor. I struggled to get back upright, but I felt as if something had me pinned in place to the floor. I kicked at the inky darkness, trying to connect with whoever was there with me. I kicked into the air; I was alone except for the cat who had managed to find comfort once again on my stomach. The sound of his contented purring filled me with anger that quickly turned into fear.
There was a hundred years’ worth of grain scattered on the floor of the gristmill, muffling the sound of its approaching footsteps. I could sense its presence looming over me, I could feel my breath grow short and hear the thump of my heart as it tried to bust through my sternum. I couldn’t muster the strength to call out to whoever was standing next to me or try to move my chair.
The floor under me began to groan, shaking, recognizing the inflections of labor, trying to part for the birth of some foreign entity. The cat had begun to knead his paws into my chest, happy at the arrival of the being. His claws dug into my skin, and I could feel the blood start to ooze to the surface. He crawled up towards my face. He lay against my chin, holding his rough fur against my mouth; in an attempt to silence me.
The floor groaned again as the boards began to fall away slowly, suspended in time. The scent of rotting fruit overwhelmed my senses to the point I could taste it in my mouth; making me feel high and hungry. I moved my head forward, trying to see what was coming through the floor; the cat prevented me from lifting my head, pushing his body harder into my face.
There was a sick silence in the building, and my breath began to come back to normalcy. I felt relaxed and rested; the cat had jumped off of me and had disappeared. I closed my eyes wishing for sleep. This had to be a nightmare, and I wanted out.
Thank you for reading! Creative and helpful criticism is welcome! Find typos in this draft? Let me know!