Pirates

She shivered. “Hey, it’s getting cold in here!”

No answer. “Hey, do you mind if I turn up the heat?”

Still no answer.

“Where is everybody?”

She slipped off the bed and slid her feet into puffy blue slippers. Down the short hall, left, then to the right.

“Oh great. Power off again.”

The thermostat stared back blankly.

“Hey, are you ok?”

No answer.

She went out to the living room. “Honey?”

The empty room echoed back at her.

Beginning to worry now, she stood still and listened. The entire house was quiet of empty. Then from outside, a creaking. Nothing good could sound like that. Her heart began to pound with dread. She went to the door nearest the sound. Touched the knob, let it go. Do I really want to know? Visions of horrors she didn’t want to see too clearly played through her mind. Ropes and blood and bulging eyes.

“Pull yourself together,” she muttered to herself.

She shook the visions out of here head and grasped the door knob firmly. Wrenched it back. Almost pulled her shoulder out of the socket, but the door held fast.

She looked at the latch and the dead bolt. Both worked just fine, but the door would not open. She let go of the knob as though burned. Something was holding the door closed. She backed away silently.

A shadow moved at the corner of her eye. There had been a face, she was sure of it, at the window to her left. Another shadow to her right. Her mouth went dry.

It was daylight, for Pete’s sakes. What could be so terrible? That is precisely what she did not want to know. Where was Michael? Where were the kids? No sound of voices. No footsteps on the porch. No jingling keys or rattling doorknobs. Nothing but creaking…rope?
Oh, please, she begged any god who might be listening. Not my husband, not my children.

She kicked off her slippers and crawled out to the kitchen, checking each window for shadows and faces, but each was empty. She made it to the back door and tried the latch. The door opened easily, without a squeak. Out she went. No one was in the yard. She went down the steps and tiptoed around the corner of the house. Still no one. She crept toward the front corner of the house. The sound of creaking rope grew louder. “No, I can’t look. I can’t look,” she wept to herself. “I have to see.”

She put her back to the wall and turned her face to look around the corner. Her feet followed her eyes.

The front yard was full of ropes, all tied to the tree that stood in the middle of the yard. The tree was surrounded by a wood hull topped with raised poop deck. Three old sheets hung from various branches, bellying in the light breeze.

From high above came the voice of her youngest. “Avast there! Thar she blows!”

The oldest and the middle boy popped their heads above the gunnels and left fly their suction cup arrows. The arrows came at her but fell short when they reached the ends of their tethers. Her husband strode down the gangplank, his pants tucked into his Wellingtons. On his head was her old black hat. Over one eye was a patch.

“Ah, she’s too wily to be captured by our sea witch alarm!” He reached out and pulled a rope which pulled a bell hanging over the prow. The other end of the rope was tied to the door knob. “It was supposed to ring when you opened the door!”

They all looked so proud of themselves and so happy. “Look what we made while you were asleep!” shouted the youngest. She wanted to hug them all in relief.

After she killed them.