Gayle Wilson - Bogeyman

“What thing?”

“About the bugs biting me.”

Blythe could almost hear her grandmother’s voice, its distinctive Southern accent repeating the same good-night wish she’d whispered to Blythe when she was a child. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

“That’s just a silly old saying.” She bent over to press a kiss on the little girl’s temple. “There are no bedbugs here or at Miz Ruth’s.”

Maddie had quickly picked up on the name by which most of the inhabitants of Crenshaw referred to Ruth Mitchell. Or maybe because that was how her grandmother’s housekeeper always addressed her, and the little girl spent her mornings with the two old women.

In any case, given the growing closeness between them, Blythe had decided that it didn’t matter what Maddie called her great-grandmother. Ruth Mitchell would be for Maddie exactly what she had been for Blythe—friend, confidante and role model. The child couldn’t have a better one.

Blythe pushed up from her perch on the edge of the bed, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp as she did. The flash of lightning that illuminated the darkened room was followed closely by a clap of thunder.

Blythe glanced down at the little girl in the bed, but her eyes were still closed. Apparently the storm didn’t bother her.

Normally, they didn’t bother Blythe either. There was something about this one, however, that had kept her slightly on edge since the rain had started. If the power went out—

That’s what she had intended to do, she remembered. Locate the flashlight and gather up any candles she could find. Despite having been here for a couple of months, she hadn’t managed to get everything unpacked.

Of course, working at Raymond Lucky’s law office half a day made it hard to get much done at the house. And she couldn’t have managed either the job or the unpacking had her grandmother and Delores not been so eager to look after Maddie for her.

When she’d started with Ray, Blythe had intended to prove herself so invaluable that he’d be forced to hire her full-time. Now she knew he didn’t have enough clients to warrant that expenditure. Although her greatest fear was that Ray would decide he couldn’t afford her any longer, she had already started putting out feelers for more permanent—and more lucrative—positions.

Despite the obvious advantages of her move back home, that was the major drawback to living in this small, rural community. A lack of jobs that related to any of her skills.

Without the required education courses that would allow her to teach, her English degree seemed worthless in this setting. As did the five years before Maddie’s birth that she’d spent as editor of one of Boston’s small entertainment magazines.

Such as they are, she acknowledged.

Denying the rush of bitterness over the turn her life had taken, Blythe flipped the switch for the overhead light as she entered the kitchen, welcoming its glow. Despite her earlier uneasiness, the room seemed warm and familiar.

Safe.

She rummaged through the drawers, searching for the utility candles she knew she’d brought with her. This was where she’d always kept them in the old house. She couldn’t imagine where else she might have put them when she’d unpacked the container they’d been in.

Which probably indicated she hadn’t. And that meant they were in one of the boxes lined up along the wall in what had been the house’s front parlor.

She debated letting the candles go and simply going back upstairs to bed. That way if the power did go out, she’d never know.

Not unless Maddie has another nightmare.

The thought was enough to send her out of the kitchen and into the hall. She stopped a moment at the foot of the stairs, listening for any sounds coming from the little girl’s bedroom. She could hear nothing but the steady beat of the rain against the roof.

She crossed the hall to open the door of the parlor. She kept this room shut off in an attempt to keep the utility bill down. Besides, other than using it as storage, she couldn’t imagine that she would ever need the space.

By force of habit she flipped the switch, remembering only when nothing happened that she’d not yet replaced the bulbs in the overhead fixture. So far, she had only worked in here in the daytime, so that until tonight, there had been no need. And too many other things that demanded her time.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she walked over to the boxes. She squatted before the first, trying to read the words she’d carefully printed in indelible marker as she’d packed them. Despite the occasional flare of lightning, that proved impossible. Why the hell hadn’t she brought the flashlight?

Because you’re operating on too little sleep and too much stress.

Putting her hand on the top of the box, she pushed herself up. Screw the candles. The flashlight would be enough.

As long as it had working batteries. Given the way the night was going…

She started across the parlor, heading back to the hall. With the lack of furniture in the room, her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as she crossed the wooden floor. Halfway to the door she realized that wasn’t all she was hearing.

She stopped, tilting her head toward the hallway. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then the noise came again.

Even over the omnipresent rain she could hear it. A low, muffled tapping.

She had heard the same sound a couple of times before, always at night, and always as she lay in that state between waking and sleeping. It had seemed too much trouble to get up and locate the source then, but she’d better figure it out tonight or, combined with her feeling of anxiety about the storm, the noise would keep her awake. If there was anything she didn’t need, it was another night of interrupted sleep.

A shutter? she wondered. Or a branch brushing against the house? Except there didn’t seem to be enough wind to cause either.

She hurried into the front hall, once more stopping at the foot of the staircase. Again she cocked her head to listen.

Other than the rain, the house was now silent. She took a breath of relief. In the middle of it, the tapping came again. Whatever its cause, it was definitely coming from upstairs.

The faint light spilling out into the hall to the den reminded her that she had been headed to the kitchen to retrieve the flashlight. Once she had it, she’d go upstairs and locate whatever was making the racket. When that had been taken care of, she’d check on Maddie and then get into her own bed. Maybe they could manage to make it through one night without any further disturbances.

The flashlight was lying on the counter where she’d put it when she’d started rummaging through the drawers. She picked it up and then walked over to check the dead bolt and chain lock on the back door. Both were secure.

She pushed aside the sheer curtain that covered the glass top half of the door, intending to peer out into the darkness. For an instant her reflection made it seem as if someone was out there looking in at her. Although her realization of what she was really seeing was almost instantaneous, the jolt of adrenaline that initial sensation created caused her to jerk the fabric back over the pane.

Still fighting that ridiculous surge of panic, she turned, taking a last look around the kitchen before she retraced her steps. She hesitated in the doorway, her fingers finding the switch several seconds before they pulled it down. She waited, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the sudden lack of light.

This was her normal routine. Cutting off the lights down here and making her way up the stairs in the dark. Since she no longer closed Maddie’s door at night, she didn’t want to turn on the light at the top of the stairs and chance waking her.