Rae Sengele

(Prompt #31)

She sat in front of her typewriter, fingers tapping not the keys, but instead against the wood desktop. Her eyes were fixed on the far distance of the horizon out the large picture window to her right. There wasn’t much out there to see. It was that dull time between seasons when the snow had melted, but nothing had yet to grow back. The field was brown and damp. The road was muddy with stretches of puddles. The hills on the horizon faded behind the hazy fog into the grey sky.

She was supposed to be writing. She was supposed to be doing something productive. But her mind was blank. Every cell in her body wanted to be anywhere else, doing anything else. She hated this feeling, this maddening dichotomy. When she was doing everything else, she just wanted to be writing. When she was writing she wanted to be doing anything but.

A black streak leapt into the window. There hadn’t been a single warning of the cat’s presence until it thumped on the sill, ripping her from her spiraling so violently her body jolted with a start, her hand fluttering over her heart.

“Ghost,” she sighed. “Must you?”

The cat just rubbed her face against the window frame in response.

She grabbed the cat, making her squeak, and plopped her in her lap where she ran her fingers through Ghost’s shiny black fur that had thickened with the cold weather. Ghost purred and kneaded against her thigh.

“Tell me a story, Ghostie. What have you been getting up to? Give me something to write about.”

Ghost just rubbed her face against the edge of the desk and purred.

“Oh, you’re no help. You’re never any help.”

She lifted Ghost to her shoulder where the cat clung to her, staring out the window with large, focused eyes.

“What am I to do with you?” She stroked Ghost’s little head, scratching between her ears. “Hm?”

She ran the tip of her finger between Ghost’s eyes. Usually, the cat would close those big green eyes and melt into her when she did that, but today she went on staring out the window with an intensity usually reserved for squirrels, rabbits, and raccoons.

“What is it?” She swiveled her chair towards the window. “What are you—?”

She stopped still then squinted. Out on the far hill was a figure. At this distance she couldn’t make out much beyond what seemed to be a long black dress.

She stood with such a rush, Ghost launched herself from her shoulder, landing on the chair where she watched her owner leave the room before jumping down to follow.

With every window she passed, she quickly checked the hill to be sure the figure was still there. The trek up the windowless stairs was excruciating, the panic that the figure would be gone by the time she reached the topping nipping at her heels, herding her upward alongside Ghost threatening to trip her as she darted between her feet. But at the top, when she ran for the end of the hall, her footsteps thundering against the hardwood all the way to the small window that she threw herself at, hands gripping the sill, her ragged breath fogging the glass, the figure was still there out in the distance.

She tore into her brother’s study and scrambled for his telescope. Twisting the knobs, she swiveled the lens away from the bird feeder in the garden towards the hills. But when she put her eye to the sight, she blinked into darkness.

“What? Fuck,” she hissed as she fumbled for the cap on the end of the lens.

With a only half suppressed growl, she returned to the eyesight and maneuvered the telescope across the horizon. But nothing was there. Just hills, trees, more hills and haze and god damn hills.

“What?” She lifted her head and leaned to one side to look out the window. “Where—?”

She searched the hills again, both without, then with, and again without the telescope, but they were empty again.

She let out a long sigh and let go of the telescope, her hands dropping to her sides. Defeated, she went to the window and leaned against the sill, Ghost pacing between her arms, her tail tickling her chin.