48 Hour Short Story Contest

Sandra put her feet up on the couch, twisted her long brown hair around her finger and turned another page in her book. Her reading glasses slid down her nose and she reached to shove them back with her index finger. Fall was turning into winter and the fire that she had made in the fireplace felt good on her body; soft music played and helped her to relax. Her grandmother’s Royal Dalton china cup held her favorite chamomile tea. She moved and stretched without even realizing that she had done so. She was thoroughly engrossed in the book, reading and trying to understand the directions for making a stuffed chipmunk. Her niece, Summer, would love it if she could ever get the hang of cutting, stitching and stuffing. Summer’s letter was lying on the table. In the letter she had told her aunt Sandra that she loved chipmunks.

Sandra had no artsy-craftsy talents and the only other thing she had tried to make was a mouse that ended up looking like a gorilla. But this time, she was going to make something that would make Summer proud. She had been excited to find the brown color fleecy fabric that was almost the color of live chipmunks. The book told her how to do the little stripe down its back.

As she labored over the book, she took the scissors in one hand and the book in the other, soft, fleecy fabric beside her on the couch, the door opened in the kitchen. Sandra’s concentration was so intense that she didn’t hear the creaking noise made by the intrusion. Soft footsteps could have been heard had she not been so absorbed.

Suddenly, a board creaked and the tiny fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She sensed, rather than heard, the person standing in her living room. Fear caused her heart to pound. Sandra stood up, removed her reading glasses, and dropped the book on to the couch. The fabric softly fell onto the floor.

Just as she turned, hands grabbed at her arms. As she jerked away, she felt herself losing her footing, falling headlong over the table and onto the floor. Her teacup was knocked over and the scissors fell to the table with a clanging noise. Before Sandra could move, the hands were back pulling her across the floor by her feet. She screamed, grabbed and caught the table but it slid along the smooth surface of the hardwood floor as she felt herself being pulled closer to the intruder. Fear thudded within her as her heart pounded almost audibly.

Before she could react, his body was on top of her choking her and mashing her. He pulled at her clothes tearing the thin cotton shirt and she realized that he was going to rape her. He began to speak soothingly to her…words that he must have thought were comforting. “I’ve been watching you Sandra. Don’t be afraid. I could have hurt you at anytime, but I didn’t. I only wanted to touch you, to hold you…to have you like this. Don’t be afraid.” His words struck terror in her. His drunken breath was putrid to her nostrils and she gagged with his stench and the thought of what was happening to her. She fought and writhed as he held her tighter in his grasp, pinning her to the hard floor. His shirt stank from alcohol and sweat.

Breathing shallowly and saying a silent prayer, Sandra realized that she was going to have to get herself out of this trouble. There was no one there to help her. Her voice trembled as she asked, “What is your name? How do you know me?” Under different circumstances, Sandra might have found the intruder attractive with his sandy blonde hair, tan, cool blue eyes. Instead she found him terrifying.

He gave a short laugh and said, “Michael, my name is Michael. Yeah, people call me Archangel.” He laughed as though he had told a joke. “Where did I see you? Everywhere! Everywhere I go, I see you, in my dreams, my thoughts, in my waking moments ever since the day you were at the swimming pool with your friend. I know your name is Sandra, but you are really her. You look like her, talk like her, act like her. You’ve come back to me Katrina. Oh, and don’t worry about your friend, he won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Realization hit Sandra. He was talking as though he had hurt Devin. Oh God, no, please not Devin. He was a good friend who was always there for Sandra. She would have to outwit him which might not be hard in his inebriated state. She whispered a prayer within herself for the end of this nightmare.

“Michael, can’t we be friends too?” Sandra asked with a voice that quaked. “Let me up from here and I will make us a cup of tea and we can talk, get to know each other.”

Suddenly, the stranger pulled himself away from Sandra and sat up. “I don’t want tea. I want you and I’m going to have you. He stooped over her, yanked her up and shoved her onto the couch. Her cheek hit the edge of the book but she was unaware of the pain. She tried to scream but the flowered couch muffled her cry. “Oh God, please, help me to get away from this monster.”

She felt herself being turned onto her back and she clawed at the couch trying to get control. It was useless against his strength. He made soft cooing noises to her as he again began to unhook her jeans. Seeing the scissors, he reached for them and began to cut the tight jeans from her body. She could feel the cold blade of the scissors against her skin. At first fear made her stop squirming as the thought of the scissors cutting her flesh paralyzed her. He threw the scissors on the floor and began to tear at her clothes. She heard the fabric ripping and knew that she needed to escape soon.

She fought with all of her might squirming and trying to kick but he backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. The blow stunned her for a moment but then seemed to empower Sandra and she jerked, pulled, pushed, and fought with everything in her. She pulled herself to a sitting position and kicked him from her. His hands reached for her just as her hand reached for her book. She threw it at him and it glanced off of his head. His face became red with anger and he began to curse her.

With a loud growl the monster came at her again pitching her half off of the couch. Somehow, Sandra got her balance, stood and began to back away as he laughed, hard cruel laughter, laughter without humor. “Your friend thought he could escape from me too, Sandra. They never can. I always win.” His voice was coming in gasps from the effort of trying to get control of Sandra. But she had one advantage that he didn’t. He was inebriated; Sandra was not. She would have to use that to her advantage.

She backed toward the fireplace as he slowly followed her, a stealthy game worthy of a cat and mouse. It was then that he raised his hand and in it were the scissors. She had not seen him pick them up. She trembled as she realized that he was going to stab her. Before he could lunge, her fingers touched the fireplace poker that stood in the brass holder and encircled the handle. She braced her body for what she was going to do. As he got closer, her body shook, but she knew that this was her only chance of getting away from him. He grinned at her, a grin that would have been handsome had he not been a monster.

“San-dra … San-dra… “ His words were said in a whispery sing-song that caused her blood to chill.

At that moment, Sandra raised the poker and swung it with all of her might. She felt and heard as the iron struck bone. His eyes became wide with the knowledge of her attack. He screamed and pitched forward onto the hearth. His arm went into the fire. His shirt quickly caught fire and the flames spread across his chest. The rug in front of the fireplace began to blaze.

Sandra ran to the phone and dialed 911 with fingers that shook so hard that she had to make two attempts. Within moments there was a pounding on her door and as she threw it open a policeman ran into the room. He pulled Michael from the fire as she heard sirens coming toward the house. Firemen put out the fire that was consuming the rug and scorching the hardwood floor.

The officer took her statement as the ambulance drove away with Michael in it.

“Will he live?” Sandra asked the policeman?

“He’ll live, I think, but now we have a chance to put him away for a long time. He has raped and killed 5 women that we know about. We had not been able to catch him until today.”

Sandra became aware that her jeans were cut almost off of her body and she began to try to cover herself. The officer reached down, picked up the fuzzy fabric that should have been a chipmunk and compassionately, put it across her lap. She looked at it, sniffled and said, “I was making a chipmunk for my niece.”

“Can I call someone to come and be with you?” the officer asked.

“I don’t know a lot of people…my friend, Devin…” and then it hit her and she began to shake. Devin was dead.

The officer put his arm around her as she broke and cried for the first time, not tears for herself, but tears for Devin.

A neighbor came to the open door, introduced herself as Marie, and asked if she could help. The officer asked her to stay with Sandra while he went to the police station.

“Sandra, could I come back tonight and check on you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Sandra went into her bedroom and changed clothes and returned to the living room. Marie had already started cleaning up the mess. Together they worked to get the room in order, dragging the charred rug to the curb for the trash collectors. Marie placed calls for Sandra, insurance, professional painters, a carpenter. Before she went home, the work was already lined up to put the house back in shape. As she left, Sandra hugged Marie and thanked her. Marie promised to see her tomorrow.

She was getting ready to settle down on the couch when the doorbell rang. She walked to the door, opened it, and there stood the officer, no longer in uniform, wearing jeans and a yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled.

“Come in,” she said, sweeping her hand to the side. He held one hand behind his back and they walked to the couch and sat down. He pulled his hand out from behind his back and there, sitting in it was a tiny little stuffed toy, a chipmunk.

Sandra laughed, reached down and picked up the fleecy fabric and walked across the scorched floor to the fireplace.

1,905 words