Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

I noticed that Boggs's door was closed and when I listened in the hallway, i heard no sound coming from his room either. It must have been an early night for everyone, I thought with a shrug and prepared a hot bath for myself. Afterward, I returned to my room where I thought I would read a little before going to sleep. I had just opened my collection of plays when a glow over the grounds outside my window caught my attention.

Rising slowly, I went to the window and gazed out at the small cottage. Tonight, it was lit more brightly and the flow of that light on the grounds was what I had seen. As I stood looking out the window I saw figures silhouetted behind the curtains. Then, they disappeared. I opened my window a little more and brought my face closer to the opening. I thought I could distinctly hear what sounded like the kind of music you heard on a carousel. It was low, almost a tinkle.

No one lives there, everyone had insisted, almost angry because I had asked. Who was that, then?

I was tired of the mysteries and the shadows, the fretful side glances and the whispers. I didn't know what I was risking exactly, but I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep wondering. Except for the music that drifted over the grounds, the house was still very quiet. Even the creaks and groans in the walls and floor seemed to have stopped. I reached for my robe and shoved my feet into my slippers. Then, as softly as the famous ghost of Sir Godfrey Rogers's mistress must move through this house, I tiptoed down the hall to the back door and slipped out.

The night air was cooler than I had expected. I embraced myself and gazed at the cottage. Standing in the darkness, I felt I could observe without being discovered. I waited and watched, but saw no one. It looked safe for me to cross the grounds and go to the cottage. I walked slowly, gazing around. The music was definitely coming from the cottage. I stopped about midway because I thought I heard someone else skulking through the shadows behind me, but I saw no one. After a moment more, I continued until I reached the first hedge in front of the cottage. Someone moved behind the curtain, hesitated and then disappeared. My heart had stopped and started and now was pounding under my chest like a jackhammer.

I crouched and inched forward to the window after I had checked the grounds behind and around me once more. Slowly, almost as if I didn't want to see, as if something inside me instinctively retreated, I brought my eye up to the corner of the window and peered into the room.

I had seen the small furniture before, of course, but tonight I noticed that there were more dolls, and the dolls I had seen before had been moved. The one doll that was as big as a small child was still on the miniature sofa facing me. It looked like it was laughing at me.

I realized the music wasn't coming from this room. It was coming from another room on the south side of the cottage. I retreated and then, keeping to the shadows, moved across the front of the cottage to the other side. Once again, I looked around before going forward and was confident there was no one else out there waiting to pounce.

The hedges on this side were somewhat closer to the cottage so I had to step very slowly in order not to catch myself on a branch. I reached these windows and crouched again, slowly lifting my head. Through the gauze-like curtains, I could see a figure in the bed and another, larger figure sitting on the edge. I moved my head very slowly toward the small opening in the curtains.

People often say that when they are frightened by something, their blood turns cold. It is as if ice cubes had formed in the base of your stomach and waves of freezing air crawled into your veins, chilling your blood so that when it reaches your heart, your heart feels like it has been coated with thin layers of frost. I understood that description now. It was happening to me.

It was my Great-uncle Richard sitting on the bed, holding a children's book in his hands. He was wearing a velvet robe over his pajamas. Dressed in a frilly little nightshirt with pigs and squirrels and rabbits embossed all over it was Mary Margaret. She was sucking on a fairly large round red lollipop. Her eyes were wide as if she was five years old and hearing the most fascinating tale. Beside her on the nightstand a music box played.

The room itself was unquestionably decorated for a little girl. There was pink and white wallpaper filled with cartoon characters, more dolls on shelves, a small mauve-colored desk and a chair, and a pink rug. All the pictures on the wallsn ante from storybooks and children's movies. The vanity table had a small brush and comb on it as well as some little bottles of perfume.

The window was opened slightly so if I lowered my ear, I could hear what was being said.

Great-uncle Richard's voice rose and fell with exaggeration as he read the story of a little duck who had wandered into the woods too far from her mother and was trying desperately to find her way home.

"Her little quack quack echoed in the darkness around her," he read, "and she fluttered her feathers and ran faster, not knowing she was going in the wrong direction. Suddenly, she heard an owl and she stopped to look up.

"Who? the owl said. My name is Dolly and I'm lost, Dolly said. She didn't know that owls only said who... Isn't that funny, Heather?" he asked Mary Margaret.

I looked at her.

Mary Margaret nodded emphatically, pulling the lollipop from her mouth.

"Yes, Daddy," she said. She forced a giggle and then put the lollipop back into her mouth.

"Do you want to hear the rest or are you tired?" he asked. She pulled out the lollipop.

"I want to hear the rest, Daddy," she said.

Great-uncle Richard smiled and continued.

"Who? the owl said. Dolly repeated her name and told him she was lost. She waited. The owl went who, who, who?

"Why don't you listen to me? Dolly said angrily. I told you who I

was. All the owl said was who, so Dolly ran on until she heard a hiss. She stopped and looked into the darkness. Who's there? she asked. There was another hiss. She walked ahead slowly," Great-uncle Richard read and then he put his fingers on Mary Margaret's arm and pretended they were little feet inching up toward her shoulder. She giggled.

"Suddenly," Great-uncle Richard read, "a snake popped out from under a rock. He stuck out his tongue. That's pretty rude, Dolly told him. He hissed again and slithered toward her."

Great-uncle Richard's hand went under the blanket. Mary Margaret squealed and jumped in the bed. Then she looked like she was going to cry and Great-uncle Richard pulled his hand out and embraced her.

"There, there, don't be frightened, Heather. I was just pretending. Your mother will accuse me of giving you nightmares."

He stroked her hair and then he let her head return to the pillow. She looked up at him as he took the lollipop from her hand and put it on a dish on the night table.

"I think you're getting tired," he told her and she closed her eyes, opened them, fluttered her lids and closed them again. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the forehead.