Bonzer Words!: Terror in the Night
...It was wonderful. I would lie in my bed at nights listening to the wind in the trees, the barking of dogs and hooting of owls. I grew accustomed to the clanking of the galvanized roof as it cooled in the night air, and reassured myself that the diverse creaking and groaning of the house was just that—the building's response to the elements, and not the footfalls of my ancestors protesting at the modernization of their earthly home...
But then Lytrice Adams was awakened one night by a loud crash.
The neighbours warned me that I should not sleep alone in the house.
Especially with the lights out.
'It's not like before when only village people were around,' one older woman pointed out. 'Now all kinds of rough characters are sneaking around, looking for something to steal. Just a few months ago they killed a woman in her house. And the police are still searching for the killer!'
I had come back to the village in Grenada, West Indies, for my annual winter vacation. This year was going to be different. The recently renovated house now sported new furniture, gleaming appliances, a spacious verandah, and an unblemished coat of paint. I was looking forward to some basic comforts after having endured years of inconvenience.
I gratefully accepted the neighbours' gifts of fruits and vegetables, the offers to help with the cleaning and settling in, but I tactfully declined the suggestion that a person or two should be installed as guardians of my nocturnal safety. I understood their concern, because this was the first time I would be alone in the house following the death of my mother.
But I looked forward to establishing my independence. And I wanted my privacy.
'I'll be fine,' I reassured everybody. 'I'm used to being by myself. I'll call if I need anything.'
'Well at least keep one light on during the night,' a solicitous adviser suggested. 'You never know what could happen in the dark.'
I ignored the advice. Instead, I drew the curtains wide open, letting the moonlight flood the open spaces of the house. I even left some of the windows partly open to enjoy the fresh night breezes, since I argued that the newly-installed screens would keep any unwanted intruders away.
It was wonderful. I would lie in my bed at nights listening to the wind in the trees, the barking of dogs and hooting of owls. I grew accustomed to the clanking of the galvanized roof as it cooled in the night air, and reassured myself that the diverse creaking and groaning of the house was just that—the building's response to the elements, and not the footfalls of my ancestors protesting at the modernization of their earthly home.
I was rudely awakened one night by a loud crash in the kitchen area. I listened with growing fear, as the sounds continued, thrashing and bumping and banging. Someone was in the kitchen. I lay there in my bed frozen with terror. Is this what the neighbours were warning me about? I held my breath waiting for the intruder to come through the house and discover my vulnerability. I thought about screaming. Then I realized I would only be advertising my presence. The neighbours were too far away to hear me, anyway.
The sounds continued, but they seemed to gradually subside. Nothing happened. I relaxed a bit. After a while I fell asleep.
The next morning, the kitchen seemed undisturbed, until I looked in the sink. There, floating, belly-up, in the water I had left overnight, was a huge green cricket!
How did it get into the house, I wondered, as I looked around. That's when I discovered the missing pane of glass in the window above the sink!
The renovater had a lot of explaining to do.
© Lytrice Adams
Lytrice writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
