Hello, all. I still have not decided exactly what I am going to do with the blog idea that I presented to you on yesterday, "A Storm to Beat All Storms". I am developing a story or a series of stories; don't know which yet. I am leaving it up to the characters to see how they flow. I did think about cliff hangers; haven't decided definitely about that either. I will be back with you sometime today with, at least, a portion of a story in tow.
I am back and this is what I have so far.
Zaniah borrowed Tessie’s phone again to call her ride to pick her up from
work. Mr. Chalmers said he would be there in 15 minutes. When Zaniah told the night
watchman, he complained that he had to make his early rounds and that she was
throwing him off schedule. Zaniah apologized and said, “You won’t be bothered
with me much longer, Mr. Truett. I’ve got enough saved up to rent the little
brownstone a block away.” She had been saving for the little place, or one like
it, for over a year. She didn’t tell Mr. Truett, but she had already put her
deposit down. She would be moving in on tomorrow.
Thinking about her move on tomorrow had kept her spirits up all day long.
She did not even get bothered when, Mr. Mussel, had informed her section in the
plant that they would need to put four extra hours in to get piece work put.
She and the rest of the supervisors were often told, at the last minute, that
they needed to stay to finish the run on a batch of material, so that change
outs could be done during the night. When Zaniah’s ride pulled up to the side
door and tooted, she yelled to Mr. Truett that she was gone. He didn’t hear her
though, because he had locked her in the small foyer and gone on his nightly
Zaniah let herself out of the tastefully decorated baby pink foyer and ran
down the worn burgundy steps through the misty rain to the aqua blue van that
Mr. Chalmers used for his “taxi” service. She hopped into the van and said, “Good
evening, Mr. Chalmers.”
“Mr. Chalmers is home in bed with a cold and it would be a good evening if
folks didn’t expect people to haul them at all hours of the night!” said Mrs.
Chalmers. (cont. Have to go to see about daughter.)
(I am back. Let's see; where did I leave off?)
"Oh brother," thought Zaniah, "just what I need on a night like this, Mrs. Chalmers."
She knew that Mrs. Chalmers would not only, not drive up to her apartment gate and wait until Mr. Woodward, the night watchman, for her building had unlocked the gate for her, but would drop her off at her street. That meant that she would have to walk the 500 ft. down the dimly lit street alone.
Zaniah had never liked to walk past the boarded up houses that she would
have to pass to get to her building. She was feeling anxious by the time that
Mrs. Chalmers had stopped at her street. Zaniah said a weak goodnight to Mrs.
Chalmers, in hopes that she would linger a bit while she made her trek to her
apt. building, no such luck. Mrs. Chalmers gunned the car as she took off for home. Zaniah started off in the middle of the
street. She was walking fast. She was sorry that she had changed into her street boots with the smart little heels, and had left her rubber soled
shoes in her locker at work because her work shoes would have made no sound as she walked. Still, with the way Mrs. Chalmers had gunned the car when she took off for home, killed her chance of silence, anyway.
Zaniah sensed that there was
someone behind her, but when she turned around there was nothing. She continued
to make her way toward her apt. building in the inky blackness, but at a faster
pace. “What was that? That did sound like a footfall.” She did not need
encouraging to break into a full run. She was running for all she was worth and
then some. There definitely were footfalls running with her as she ran. The footfalls seemed to be gaining on her. Zaniah open her mouth and began
to scream for her apt. night watchman,
Mr. Woodward. She made it to her apt. building to find the gate locked. Still
screaming the night watchman’s name, she started climbing up the gate. She had
made it up half way when she was yanked by her feet to the ground. Zaniah hit
the ground with a woof and met total blackness when the back of her head hit
the pavement with a thud as her screams for the night watchman died in her throat.
(Alright, blog readers, here is this
young woman who has saved for a brownstone apt. for a year meeting a storm on
the eve of the day she is supposed to move. WHAT? What in the world has
happened? Meet me back on my blog on tomorrow...)
Aside – I think I know where I am going with this blog now.