Good thing I didn’t have to sleep in my car tonight. Homeless and staying the night in the back seat of a rundown Toyota was bad enough. Stormy nights could be downright terrifying. I’d never take a big, safe house for granted.
I guided the needle along one small square and connected it to the next. I’d made a pattern from a piece of newspaper, same as Ida had done, and now had a neat stack of congruent squares organized into an alternating color pattern. One by one I connected them together until the last piece in the stack joined its brethren.
Something groaned. The old house’s bones creaked with the weight of the fury outside. I leaned closer to the machine. Watched the needle rise and fall. A window rattled, desperately trying to shield me from the tempest wrapping itself around Ida’s Victorian like a python.
Twisting the wheel, I lifted the needle from the final piece of fabric and pulled my quilt free. I cut the thread, making sure to leave enough dangling out to start the next time. There.
A bolt of blue fire spit through the sky, washing the foyer in light. Nothing to worry over. Just a little thunderstorm.
Eight neat little rows of squares. Nothing fancy. No intricate patterns or detailed designs, but I’d taken my time and made something I was certain my grandmother would be proud of.
A clap of thunder rattled Ida’s china. A tingle shot down my spine, a tiny reflection of the electricity popping outside. The lights flickered. Shadows pounced, then retreated.
Better call it quits before the storm’s black maw gobbled up the power. A piercing, high-pitched tone split the air. A siren screeching a death wail.
I jerked out of the chair. It toppled to the floor and bounced on the hardwood. My quilt pooled on the floor.
The wail faded, then swelled again. My pulse thrashed against my veins. The power trembled. Murky shadows wrapped around me, squeezing out my shuttering breath.
Focus. Think.
The lights popped on again, vanquishing the adversary.
I gripped the edge of the sewing machine. In my youth, a tornado siren meant we had to sit in the hallway at school with a notebook over our heads and hope it saved us from falling bricks. In my adult life, it had meant a few moments on break while customers scurried for cover.
My phone rang. I patted my pocket. Not there. The sound came from the kitchen. I sprinted through the house, skidding in the doorway. There. I plucked it off the counter and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Casey?”
Ryan. I let out a breath hot with relief. “Yeah?” The bay window in the breakfast nook exposed slashing rain and whipping limbs. I turned my back.
“You hear the tornado siren? Get in the hall closet.”
The controlled concern in his voice had me scrambling down the hall toward the linen closet in the center of the house. The siren screamed again, warning the people of Maryville a cyclone of death had set its sights on their perfect little town.
“Do you still have power?”
As though to test his words, the lights flicked off and immediately on again like some specter thought it would be fun to toggle the light switch.
“For now.” I gripped the phone and forced my voice to sound nonchalant. “Are you hiding out in a closet?” Failed. My voice warbled like a child searching under her bed for the bogeyman.
Ryan’s taut voice pulsed with a single word. “Yeah.”
I yanked open the linen closet. Small. Tight. Safe. I scurried inside and pulled the door closed behind me. Darkness swirled around me, choking out my breath. Pulse thudded in my ears, creating a weird whooshing sound. I rubbed slick palms down my thighs.
Nope. Too dark. I reached out into the hall and flicked the switch, flooding the little space with light and solace. I sucked in air, held it, and let it slide out of my nose as slowly as possible.
Shelves wrapped around three sides, stacked with tablecloths, spare sheets, and a few random Christmas decorations. Better. At least with the light I didn’t have to add childish fears of the dark to the real terror of impending danger.
I sank to the floor. I hadn’t hidden in a closet in years. Not since I was little and trying to escape my parents’ fights. The phone grew sweaty in my hand. I held firm. “Are you still there?” I drew my knees into my chest.
“I’m here. I’ll stay on the line until it passes.”
The siren wailed. I squeezed my eyes tight.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be gone—”
The lights flickered and went out. I caught my breath. “Ryan?”
A low rumble vibrated through the house. Raw panic surged in my veins, and I jumped to my feet. “What is that?”
The phone crackled, and Ryan’s voice came through the other end of the line, firm but calm. “Casey, don’t leave that closet.”
I paused with my hand on the knob. How did he know I was about to bolt? The house moaned. I held my breath. Suddenly, a sickening crash and the sound of splintering wood tore through the air.
I screamed.
“Casey?”
I dropped to my knees and threw my arm over my head. The house shook. Would it come down on top of me? I threw the door open. I needed to escape. Run.
“Casey! Can you hear me? Don’t move.”
Gripping the phone like a lifeline, I huddled in the darkness. “The house is coming down!”
I stared out into the hallway but couldn’t see anything in the dark. Rain pounded the windows, beating a steady rhythm like a madman trying to break in.
“You’re in the safest place in the house.” Ryan spoke calmly, and something about his reassurance settled my nerves. “As soon as it passes, I’ll come get you.”
The siren swelled again, seeming louder than it had before. The smell of rain tickled my nose. Had the storm blown a window out? I pressed my back against the shelves. The line crackled, and I pushed the phone tighter against my ear. What if the tornado had taken out Ryan’s house? “You okay?”
He chuckled, and some of the tension drained out of me. “Fine. We’re huddled in the pantry, waiting for it to pass.”
“We?”
“Mom says hi.”
Grasping at the normalcy of the conversation to distract me, I asked, “You live with your mom?”
“Sometimes.”
All this time Nancy had been next door? Why hadn’t I noticed? And what did he mean by sometimes? “Oh. Hi, Nancy.”
The line went quiet, and I stood as still as I could, listening to the pounding rain. At least the weird moaning had stopped.
A rush of relieved breath flowed through the phone line. “I think it’s past us. You good?”
I stared out into the dark hallway. No. I was terrified. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Good. Stay put.”
The line went dead before I could answer. Great. Now what? He expected me to stay in a closet until he came to rescue me? What kind of impression would that give? Pitiful.
I gathered my resolve and stepped out. Wind groaned through the house, and my pulse skittered.
Where did Ida keep the flashlights?
Lightning cracked again, and a burst of bluish light illuminated the small hallway. I felt my way with my hands. I’d probably find what I needed in the utility closet in the laundry room. The front door banged open.
I sucked a breath and pressed myself to the wall. I could have sworn I’d locked it.