She is

She is. She is hiding beneath the coats. She is hiding beneath the coats and furs waiting. She is hiding waiting for him. She knows he will come to her, expose her in her hiding place, but she is unsure when. She finds she is shivering with anticipation. The excitement runs through her body, raises goose bumps upon her skin, causes her feet to twitch, and her toes to wriggle. She is grinning, but smothers any laughter. She will not give herself away.

It is dark beneath the coats and furs inside the closet which stands halfway along the ground floor hallway. She can hear him moving through the house searching for her in every nook and cranny.

She has the advantage. She has grown up in this house. Her mother grew up in it too. She has played hide-and-seek here so many times that it amazes her that it is possible to lie hidden for so long.

Now he has begun to call her name. She notes with satisfaction the high tone of frustration, even anger, in his voice.

She is hiding in the closet which stands halfway along the ground floor corridor. She is underneath the coats of wool and silk lined furs. Beneath the pastel coloured coats favoured by her mother and the luxuriant furs once adored by both her grandmothers. She breathes in deeply the animal aroma of the closet with its underlying tang of must. It is, she decides, the smell of a cat who has been stalking insects and mice over the dry dead soil found beneath houses, between foundations.

But both her grandmothers are dead and her mother is out, gone to the movies. She could not go with her though she pleaded.

Now she hears his soft footsteps coming down the hallway. No spring in the step – just cruel intent. They have played this game too many times. She keeps still and quiet in the dark, tightens her grip on the knife, and waits for him to open the closet door.