Writing for Fun
June 2024
Tap, tap, tap - Lynn Gale
There it was again, tap, tap, tap against the skylight in my attic bedroom.
Trembling, I pulled my Save the Wildlife duvet up to my chin, eyes wide, staring towards the source of the sound.
Who was outside the window?
What would confront me if I opened the blind?
Could it be a banshee, her wild hair blowing in the night wind, wailing as her long fingernails drummed on the glass to get my attention so she could lament her complicated life?
Or was it a vampire? Brushing off damp earth from his black cape flapping against the window. If I dared to look, would red-staring eyes peer back at me, demanding an invitation to enter?
Maybe an angry fire-breathing Chimera, hoofs clip-clopping across the tiles as she swishes her tail in a temper, determined to find a way inside.
I lay frozen in fear, not daring to move. My heart beat rapidly, competing in a drum battle with the tapping above.
Stop being silly. It’s just my imagination.
Perhaps it's a bulbous-bodied tarantula, made enormous by a freak blast of radiation, scurrying across the window with its long hairy legs looking for a way in.
Now you are being ridiculous.
I wriggled further into my bed, eyes closed tightly against the terrors outside.
It may be the Abominable Snowman. Driven from his Himalayan home by constant queues of tourists vying for selfies. Shimmying up the drainpipe to sit on a chimney pot and snack on dark red cherries, spitting out the stones across the roof.
A shuffling outside on the landing, I held my breath. Had something found its way into the house? Then, the door began to open slowly, inch by inch. I stared in terror as a brown furry foot appeared over the sill.
No, this is not happening.
Mum stepped into the room, those ridiculous yak-shaped novelty slippers on her feet, her nightly glass of water in hand.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, ‘I thought I heard something.’
The tap-tapping began again.
‘If you turn your light off,’ she said, laughing at my discomfort. ‘That moth will fly away.’