Free Bring Home the Murder by Theresa M.; Jarvela

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    She closed her eyes, slave to a warm summer evening. Close by frogs croaked and crickets chirped. Soothed by the magical ambience, Meggie nodded off and fell into a deep sleep. She woke much later to a world swathed in darkness and the recognizable smell of cigar smoke. Her posture stiffened. She looked around to see if someone lurked nearby, but a black curtain had descended around her.
    Her heartbeat raced. Alone and vulnerable, she no longer felt at ease. Her hands searched the darkness to find her way out of the gazebo. At the entrance she stepped out and placed one foot in front of the other. She struggled to maintain her balance.
    When Meggie neared the house an odd feeling came over her and she raised her eyes. Low light shone down from the attic window. A black shape twisted, lengthened then vanished.
    For a moment she couldn’t move, unable to believe what she had witnessed. Then reality hit her. She spun around, retraced her steps to the gazebo and stumbled inside. Her eyes shot back towards the lighted window, but the house now stood shrouded in black. Hairs on her arm lifted.
    Someone lurked in the attic. She needed to call for help but she had left her phone on the kitchen table. No way would she go into the house to get it. The closest neighbor lived across the road. If she tried to run over there, the intruder might see her.
    The farm down the road. She could make a run for it through the horse pasture. She probably wouldn’t be seen from the house, but how would she find her way in the dark? A voice inside her head cautioned her to do something, anything. She rose from her crouch. A door slammed on the other side of the house. She flinched, hunkered back down. Footfalls thumped. Seconds later an engine whined then roared to life.
    By the time she pulled herself together, a banana shaped moon had appeared. It shed a faint glow around her. She stooped low, moved alongside the house and peeked around the corner. Two red taillights bounced up and down the driveway, then disappeared out of sight.
    She scrambled onto the porch and ran to the front door. Inside the house she turned the lock and flipped the light switch. Her hands trembled as she punched 911.
    Sometime later a sheriff’s car pulled into the yard, lights flashing. The driver’s door swung open and a tall well-built deputy climbed out of the car. A second deputy exited the passenger side of the vehicle.
    The driver led the way to the front door where Meggie waited. “Meggie Moore? I’m Deputy Timothy Jarvis.” He turned toward the second officer. “This is Deputy Ryan Flynn.” Following introductions Deputy Flynn turned on a flashlight and jumped off the porch. He headed around the side of the house.
    Deputy Jarvis followed Meggie into the kitchen where she explained to him exactly what had taken place earlier in the evening. She related how she made herself a drink, carried it to the gazebo and sat there until after dark. Tired from a long day, she dozed off and ­didn’t wake until much later.
    Because she had forgotten to take her flashlight with her and didn’t think to turn the yard light on, it was dark when she started for the house. Before she reached the back door she noticed a light and shaded movement in the attic.
    Deputy Jarvis jotted down notes for several minutes, then lifted his head. His eyes swept over the room past the kitchen window, the back door and finally over the half-empty bottle of rum on the kitchen counter. He rubbed his nose with his index finger and jotted down additional notes.
    When the officer finished recording the evening’s events, he tilted his hat back on his head and focused his eyes on Meggie. “Which way to the attic?”
    She motioned the officer to follow her upstairs, led him through the first bedroom and into the second bedroom. She switched the overhead light on and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
    â€œIt’s an old trapdoor, not