AN ACTIVE IMAGINATION

by Virginia E. Zimmer

The soft thump came from the basement, as though someone, or something, 
had knocked a book to the floor. Rose gripped the arms of the chair and 
cursed her husband for leaving her alone on a night like this, knowing she 
was fearful of storms, empty houses and prowlers, however imaginary they 
might be. She'd already lit every lamp and overhead light in the house, 
but they failed to dispel the damp, dreary feeling of impending doom. 

A frail woman by nature Rose harbored many phobias including a fear of 
garbage disposals. Millions of germs were feeding and breeding inside 
those disgusting things and Rose refused to have one installed in her 
kitchen. There were harmful bacteria in the suns rays and she never 
remained outside for more than ten minutes a stretch. At forty-five years 
old her skin was smooth and silky, but maintained a ghostly-white pallor. 

Her husband Jimmy had nagged her about getting a dog to keep her company 
on the nights he worked late, but Rose wouldn't hear of such a thing. What 
if the dog got rabies and went mad while she was alone with him? Her small 
delicate frame would be no match for a snarling, crazy-in-the-head animal 
who would shred her to pieces with its gnashing teeth. 

The television screen flickered in muted silence as it ran the news story 
again, warning the public about the man with the knife. He'd been evading 
the police for weeks, leaving behind no clues or reasoning to his 
insatiable appetite for slaughtering woman who were home alone. 
But Rose knew where to man was. He was in her basement skulking around in the dark with the butcher knife between his teeth. 

She reached for the phone, preparing to summon the police again, but 
shuddered at the arrogance during their previous visit less than an hour 
ago. While searching room to room the officers exchanged rolling-eyed 
glances and secret hand gestures, as if satisfying a woman's qualms were a 
waste of their precious time. The younger cop with the sneering grin had 
suggested she adopt a German shepherd for company. Men! 
"It's Rose Campbell again," she said weakly into the phone. Despite her 
attempts to sound rational her voice quivered unsteadily like a woman on 
the verge of insanity. "You must send someone right away. He's in my 
home…I just know he is." 

Lightning seared the night sky and Rose thrust the receiver away from her 
ear, fearful of being struck through the mouthpiece. She'd read somewhere 
about an elderly woman struck by lightning as it traveled through the 
phone wires and burned her to a crisp. Her nerves jangled at the thought. 
"Mrs. Campbell," the dispatcher sighed, "our officers have already checked 
your home from top to bottom and found nothing unusual." He spoke as one 
who'd already explained himself ten times yet failed to be understood. 
"Why don't you make yourself a nice cup of tea and…" 
"Cup of tea?" Rose shouted as a clap of thunder rocked the house. "I don't 
want a cup of tea… there is a man in my house! I can hear him in the 
cellar, don't you understand?" 

It suddenly occurred to Rose that the intruder might hear her, race up the 
basement stairs, knife clenched in his fist, and put a quick slicing-end 
to her plea for help. She lowered her voice to a panicked whisper and 
listened for footfalls on the cellar stairs. 
"Maybe he wasn't in the basement the when the officer's checked," she 
whispered, "or maybe he was hiding… behind the furnace perhaps… or came in through a window after they left." 

Rose envisioned the dispatched running a hand through his hair and rolling 
his eyes like the officers had done. "Okay, Mrs. Campbell," he whispered 
as though defeated, "I'll send someone out as soon as I can." 
"But when will that be?" she demanded, refusing to be pacified like a 
three year old while a maniac moved stealthily one story below. 
"Not sure, Ma'am," his voice held an edge of impatience. "Lot's of 
problems tonight due to the storm. Our officers are pretty busy. Maybe you 
could call a neighbor? Someone to sit with you a while?" 
"Sir, I am not a child! I don't need a baby-sitter! I need you to come and 
arrest this killer!" 

There was a long pause followed by a sigh. "Okay Mrs. Campbell. I'll send 
someone right over." 

"Please hurry." 

"Will do. Bye Ma'am." 

Rose replaced the phone in its cradle, severing her lifeline, and trembled 
at the emptiness of the house. Amidst the roar of the storm a blanket of 
loneliness encased her, tickling the hairs on the nap of her neck. 
A jolt of lightning crackled nearby, its brilliance exploding the pitch 
beyond the window. The lights flickered, plunging her into darkness, and 
Rose dug her nails deeply into the fabric of the chair, awaiting the 
restoration of power. The lights fluttered, fighting to stay alight as the 
storms fury roared directly overhead, rattling the china cups in the 
dining room hutch. The lights remained at half strength, their pale yellow 
light casting deep shadows in the corners, hiding nightmarish-beings that 
only Rose's mind could fathom. 

The phone echoed loudly in the stillness, spreading a fiery spark through 
Rose's spine. She lunged for it, retained a death grip on the receiver, 
and fought a maddening terror threatening to paralyze her vocal cords. 
"Rose? Rose, are you there?" Her husband's voice wafted ghostly and 
wonderfully through the earpiece. 

"Yes," Rose rasped through her dry mouth. "Jimmy, please come home right 
away." 

"What's wrong Rosie?" 

"He's in the house, Jimmy… a man with a knife is in the cellar. The police 
won't do anything about it." She kept her voice low to prevent anyone but 
Jimmy from hearing her. 

There was a silence at his end and Rose didn't like the sound of it. She 
saw her husband's mind working, the gears turning, preparing to render the 
same old speech about her imagination running away with her. 

"Now Rose…" he began in his irritating fatherly tone. 

"Don't Rose me!" Her voice shook with anger and panic. 

"But Rose… we've been through this time and time again," Jimmy said, his 
voice saturated with feigned patience. "You get yourself all worked up for 
nothing… scaring yourself half silly. I have to work late sometimes. You 
know that. Why don't you let me get you a dog to keep you company." 

"Dog's go crazy… and they can be poisoned, you know. What good is a dead 
dog when there's a killer in the house?" 

"Okay Rosie, okay. Maybe I can knock off a little early tonight, but we're 
going to have a talk about this." 

"Thank you, Jimmy. Please hurry." 

"See you in a little while." 

The lights were burning at less strength than before and Rose felt the 
shadows creeping in on her. She pushed her shaking form from the chair and 
tiptoed into the kitchen, relieved that Jimmy would be home soon. She 
hadn't heard any more thuds from the basement. Had she imagined them? She 
did have an active imagination. 

Creeping past the closed cellar door Rose opened a kitchen drawer, removed 
a box of waxed candles and pushed two of them into their candlestick 
holders. A wooden match flared and breathed life to the wicks, pushing the 
shadows back a few more inches. She decided to have a cup of tea after all 
and set the kettle on the gas stove. 

The thump came from behind her, on the other side of the cellar door, and 
Rose spun around, her heart quickening with each beat. She stumbled 
backwards and pressed against the kitchen counter, never taking her eyes 
from the doorknob. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

The cellar door was closed, but not latched, and something pushed it 
outward with each strike, revealing two fiery globes of light twinkling in 
the darkness. The Thing clawed at the door, hissing at its inability to 
enter the kitchen. 

Rose clamped a hand over her mouth, fearful that a scream, however slight, 
would squeeze the last bit of breathable air from her lungs. Spinning 
towards the counter she ran her hands across its surface groping for 
anything she might use as a weapon. Nothing. She pulled at the knob on the 
silverware drawer and sent the contents crashing to the floor. Fumbling 
through the mess Rose felt the solid wooden handle of her carving knife 
and clenched it firmly in her fist. 

Thunder and hail rocked the foundation of the house as another bolt of 
lightning crackled over her head, illuminating the kitchen just as the 
cellar door burst open. The creature with the bright eyes lunged through 
the opening, squatted on its haunches and stared at Rose, whose weapon was 
poised and readied. 

Rose halted and squinted quizzically at the creature, its tail wagging 
lazily across the linoleum. 

"You're are cat!" she shouted, her veins pounding with coursing blood. She 
tossed the carving knife to the floor and grabbed handfuls of her hair, 
pushing the escaping sanity back into her frightened mind. It's just a 
stupid little cat. Liquid laughter, bubbling up from her belly, eased her 
frightful state, soothing her frazzled nerves. 
The short-hared gray licked its paws, oblivious to Rose's state of mind, 
and then raked the moistened paws over its face. 

"Just a cat," Rose whispered again as kneeled by its side and ruffled its 
fur with her trembling hand. "Where did you come from, you little poop. 
You scared me half to death." 

Arching its back against her hand the cat eagerly accepted the stroking, 
and rubbed against Rose's thigh. 

"You must be hungry, little fellow? How about a bowl of warm milk, hmm?" 

She rose to her feet and opened the refrigerator door. 
"Just a cat indeed," the man whispered from the shadows of the cellar. 
Candlelight glinted off the butcher knife in his fist. 

The End