Cobblers Knows

COBBLERS KNOWS

A light mist shrouded the barren winter landscape as the moonlight battled bravely to shine through. The bitter wind sighed through the bare trees.

Gloria Hunter ambled down the driveway, her hair sticking to her face in wet dark strands. She pulled her long coat around her slim, pale shoulders as the wind picked up.  The moonlight made small pools of eerie yellow light on the worn and weedy cobblestones. She stared at the darkened house ahead of her before rummaging through the rain-soaked pocket of her black raincoat, searching for the key she knew was in there somewhere.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly tingled, and she quickly looked around the deserted landscape. She gave a little laugh of relief as Cobblers, her small black dog appeared and made eye contact, right before she ran behind the darkened house, growling. Gloria was puzzled at seeing the "For Sale" sign in the wild and unruly yard. 

Her heels sounded on the porch stairs, cold, hollow echoes, as the wind died down rapidly.  She did not need the key; the door was ajar, hanging half off its hinges.  She frowned briefly and shivered as she pulled her wet coat tighter around her. She did not want to go inside the uninviting house. She knew that she had to, eventually. Mark and Cobblers were waiting for her, both hungry as usual. She took a deep and shaky breath and entered reluctantly.  If she went up quietly and changed before going to the kitchen, Mark might leave her alone long enough to make dinner.  He might even decide not to beat her for leaving the house?

She felt the dog's coarse hair rub against her damp legs, wanting some attention. She bent down slowly and stroked her, whispering that it was nearly feeding time.  She loved Cobblers, her only friend here, in this hostile environment.  So far, Mark has been unsuccessful in chasing Cobbler's away.

Suddenly, she felt someone behind her. She turned around and gasped. Her reflection stared back at her, intensely, lingering, in the ornate mirror. Gloria released her breath, and smiled at the stirrings of irrational fear. She continued to feel uncomfortable as she walked through the sitting room. Nervously, she twitched the threadbare curtains, watching the rain spattering through the broken windows. She waited for as long as she could tolerate this sensation of unease, then she had to get out the room.

She closed the door softly, headed across the corridor to the staircase. As she reached out towards the banister, there was a sudden series of distant, hollow thuds, from the bedroom above. She snatched back her outstretched hand. There had been no mistaking it. Like someone swinging an object against a wall.  She knew the first wail of pain was from Cobblers.  Without hesitation, she sped up the stairs, not even pausing to flick the light switches on.  She could not abandon her only friend.  Reaching the bedroom door, she fell against it and it swung open with a reluctant squeak.

A few feeble rays of light found their way through the large bay window. She stared directly into the darkness. It had depth, like the blackest levels of the sea. The room was a stark, oppressive place, the air stale and hot, filled with a dry, musty smell, and she tasted dust in her mouth. She waited for her eyes to adjust. Directly ahead of her was something she had not expected to see. Terror jolted through her like an electrical charge. For a single, protracted moment, she froze.

The blood was everywhere, none of it hers. She blinked in the darkness of the room. He lay on the disorderly bed, unmoving, eyes no longer cold, hard, or cruel. They were empty and lifeless now, the glow out of them forever.

She stumbled backwards and tripped over her black dog.  A flash of grief rushed though her body.  She looked down at the small, bloody, broken body of her friend. The terror was making her perspire, and she felt drowsy. She could barely hear her own small voice of reason, pleading for her to turn back before it was too late. Her eyelids felt heavy and she wanted to sleep.

- And unconsciousness claimed her at last.

What happened that night clung to her memory like a parasite. She endured it by reliving it periodically, each time Cobblers entered her nightmare.  She knew that dog was trying to show her something. On each subsequent visit, the past still mingled with the present.  She had returned to the house with the jurors.  Her home was deteriorating but the picture of the two dead bodies remained fresh in her mind.

They told her she had been discovered a few hours later, crouched on the floor outside the bedroom, head resting on her knees, drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably.

She would continue to return there, because she had to.  Her life depended on it.