Freewrite: Untitled 1

Note: This is all true, but I’ve change details.

I retired this evening quite early. It had been a taxing day. My cat was ill, my heart wouldn’t lie still, and the old boss man gave me the heave ho.

Sleep came easy to me, though the dreams were rather disturbing. My mother had warned me about eating potatoes before bed. Speaking of the lady, she awoke me from a rather good one with a text asking about poor Lila.

No sooner had I laid down than the door downstairs began to rattle. I clutched my chest. Goodness! Hadn’t that xanax bar been enough to calm my nerves? I listened again, thinking my dog Fido would tear into the intruder. But I waited for 10 minutes and nothing.

I drifted back into sleep and my devious mind concocted a most horrifying nightmare. Indeed, it seemed someone had decided to climb the wall and shake my bedroom window. I huffed and awoke.

It’s the windy, silly, I told myself. Nonethless, I made sure my butcher knife was nearby.

Frito barked. I sat up, pulled the curtain aside with the knife edge and peered out. By the dim light of a moth speckled street light, I saw a shadowy figure at the window of the row house across the way. My heart did a backflip. No.

With knife in hand, I hurried downstairs, nearly colliding with Lila. She was growling at the door. Poor puss.

I threw open the door and called Frito in, glancing across the street. The figure was gone. I debated walking over to check it out, knowing my neighbor hadn’t been able to bear staying home after her husband had died last week.

Frito whined and wagged his tail, and we both came inside to quite a sight.

My witch’s broom had mysteriously fallen from its place above the fireplace and landed in the middle of the kitchen. My sick kitty Lila purred and rubbed herself on it.

I felt a chilly breeze.

“Is that you, Jon?” I asked.

Frito barked.

Well, I thought, he always did love animals.

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