by Jennifer Shell

Created on: November 03, 2008

KILLER SILENCE

The 3:20 blows its mournful whistle in the distance; it sounds ghostly, hollow, desperate. I lay in bed, wide awake, listening. It's absolutely silent outside my window, except for the train, which I can barely hear now. The birds have tucked their heads under their feathers for the night and settled deep into their nests. The raccoons have not yet made their nightly forage to my trash bins; that will happen just before dawn. There are no dogs nearby to converse with one another; I'm not close enough to town to hear them. There is no wind to bow the trees and make the branches sing against one another. No rustle of leaves. Just silence.

Except for my breathing.

Except for the ticking clock outside my bedroom door.

Except for the cat, stalking shadows in another room.

Silence.

I hate it when it's this quiet. This kind of solitude gives rise to all kinds of unwanted thoughts, when I allow my brain the freedom to roam at will. I've decided that tonight I will go back. I can't sleep anyway. It's easier for me now, though; I'm used to not sleeping. The bed doesn't have the same pull for me as it once did. Still, I attempt to sleep every night, but merely out of habit. I've been away for so long, I'm sure my lovelies think I've abandoned them.

Preparing myself for the cold that will invade as soon as I leave the comfort of my bed, I shove the covers back violently. I equate it to jumping into a pool rather than wading in, inch by inch, to get used to the temperature. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I place my bare feet firmly on the cold hardwood floor and stand all in one swift motion.

Fully awake as I am, I don't have to take time to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Not a single ray of light is to be found, save for the dim moonlight that filters through the trees and into my room. It is this way every night, and some nights, it is even darker when the clouds cover the moon or when the moon is gone from the sky. The moon's light is feeble anyway, here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nearly ancient forests.

I dress quickly, feeling the need to be warm in a hurry. I don a pair of stiff denim jeans, a white cotton tee shirt, a heavy flannel shirt, thick, woolen socks, and my best steel-toed hiking boots. In the kitchen, I toss a handful of dry food into the cat's bowl, open a bottle of spring water, take a few sips, then absently dump the rest into the cat's water dish. She can take care of herself for a few days, if she needs to. I don't

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