Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
What the hell is that?!
Her heart sprinted with uneasiness. There’d been a string of break-ins in various homes less than twenty minutes away. Was someone trying to break into her house? Sheer, black fright swept through her.
Kage had already chastised her multiple times about not having cameras on her property. She figured he was just paranoid. Kage always acted like the boogeyman was coming. He had a million guns, traps, and enough cameras to film the entire state of Texas. She instantly regretted making fun of his suggestion.
Unlocking the front door, she braced herself. She counted to three, then swung it open. She winced as headlights nearly blinded her, then she heard the sound of tires squealing along the pebbles and stones, kicking up dust, gravel and grass.
An old Buick fishtailed frantically off her property, gunning up the crude road. Her mind flickered with anxiety, and she felt a clog in her throat—the kind that crawled and jerked up one’s esophagus, then just sat there, cutting off her words. The car was gone, but she was just figuring out what the hell had just happened. Pivoting towards her house, she noticed something shiny, translucent, and slimy slithering down the siding of her home. She drew closer and peered at it.
Eggs. Lots and lots of eggs, drooping down the shingles. It must’ve been at least twenty of them, perhaps more. Her confusion and fright turned into pure anger. She raced back into the house, still toting her gun, and darted up the stairs. Once she was certain Huni was still asleep, safe and resting peacefully, an idea hit her.
She practically tripped going back down the steps. Grabbing her keys and phone, she high tailed it to her truck, following the tracks of the vehicle that had just left her property. That was the thing about dirt roads. They wrote stories of plenty of travels and recorded them—just like Kage’s therapy records. Much to her surprise, it didn’t take long to see where they led. Right to Melba’s old, gray shingled house. The one on the slight hill that looked a bit haunted, if you believed in such a thing, and in disrepair. The last thing on Poet’s mind were ghosts and goblins. Nope. She was so mad that ghosts and goblins needed to be afraid of her.
Poet parked in the driveway and marched up to the Buick. She looked at the license plate. Yup. It was the same. Placing her hand on the hood, she shook her head. She’d never seen Melba in that car before, but this was definitely her house. Poet strolled up the creaky terrace steps, with her rifle and an axe to grind. She hammered on the door, her knuckles throbbing because she hit it so hard. Then, she pressed her finger repeatedly on the doorbell, and knocked again until at last, the porch light came on. After a few seconds of silence, Poet had had enough.
“I know you’re standing there. Open up or you’ll regret it. You egged my house! You came onto private property, again, Melba, but this time, you vandalized my home! OPEN THIS GOTDAMN DOOR!” Poet struck the door with a swift kick. No answer. She could hear the television. “If you don’t open this door, Melba, I’m going to shoot it down, and come in there and drag you out!” After what felt like an eternity, Melba cracked open the door, and her head peeked out. The old woman was in a ratty blue robe, brown runover slippers, and her hair in a long salt and pepper braid. Thick glasses danced on the tip of her nose, and her eyes looked tired and worn.
“It wasn’t me,” the woman stated awkwardly.
“Really, Melba? You expect me to believe that?”
“Nobody from this here house has been to your home! You’ve made a mistake!” The woman couldn’t even lie with a straight face.
Poet rolled her eyes. “The damn car is still warm, there’s empty cartons of eggs on the passenger seat, and you’re the only one ’round here who makes it known that you hate my guts. I don’t have to be Adrian Monk to crack this case. Look how late it is? Who else would be here, this time of night, in the middle of nowhere, just to throw some damn eggs? And do you know how expensive eggs are right now?! You don’t have any chickens, so it’s safe to assume you get ’em from the grocery store. What a waste of money. You could’ve used that cash to buy yourself some business to mind.”
Melba bristled up and looked her squarely in the eye, then crossed her arms.
“I didn’t do it!”
“Not only are you annoying as hell, but you’re also a liar. I don’t know if it’s because your old friend used to live there and you don’t like what I’ve done with the place, or you think I took something of yours, or what, but I’ve had enough! Ever since I bought that house and that land, and started renovations, you’ve been nothin’ but trouble. I don’t bother nobody! I keep to myself, Melba! I work hard—I mind my business. I keep my property up. Even though you like to come over and talk about vermin and weeds. Those cats aren’t mine, but I take care of them, so they stick around. God’s furry creatures, even the ones we don’t like, deserve kindness. It’s none of your business. They’re not botherin’ you until you come onto my property. I don’t talk about your five million birdhouses you’ve placed all over the place, and the subsequent bird shit that lands on my car and truck. Now, at first I entertained you. I was nice, figuring you meant well. I see that was a mistake. I let you off easy by just lettin’ the cats chase you away these last few times. Honestly, I coulda shot your ass.” Melba’s eyes grew large.