Raccoons(Marla) Hello, All on Story Star! This is my attempt at something a bit darker. :)


It was one of the most disturbing scenes Detective Parker had ever encountered. The house was in disarray. The couch cushions and pillows looked as if they’d been mauled, and they were scattered on the floor. The kitchen was a mess of broken dishes and open containers of food. Scratch marks were everywhere.

A man was missing. And he’d left behind a torn letter that was rather unbelievable. Was all of this an elaborate hoax? Was this evidence of a deranged man? Or, had he really written this while hiding in his closet? The following is what the note said:

I am trapped in my own closet, and I don’t know when this nightmare will end. I feel that writing will help me. It always has. I have never been more thankful than right now that I keep my backpack with my notebook and pens inside this closet. Outside the door I can still hear them. The tap tap of their hateful little paws. Every once in a while, I hear another crash of something breaking. I have no idea how much of the house they’ve destroyed. My story is awful - I’ll write this while the terror is still fresh in my mind. Ha! I doubt that this event will ever leave my mind. If I get out of here, I’ll probably be in therapy for quite some time.

Anyway, here’s what happened:

A few hours (?) ago I went outside to get a book that I’d left in the car. I reached in, and as I drew back, book in hand, I heard a hiss. I looked behind me and saw a raccoon.

To be very clear, this was not a cute little raccoon. It was large and its glistening eyes were anything but friendly. Then he growled. The fact that he growled was not encouraging. Raccoons growl when they anticipate food.

It didn’t make sense. It should have been fearful. And the time was around 10:00 a.m. - why wasn’t it sleeping in its den?

As the raccoon took one deliberate, menacing step toward me, its face twisted into horrible sneer.

That was enough.

I turned and ran toward the house. As I neared the porch, more raccoons appeared from seemingly nowhere, all of them behaving more like wolves than raccoons.

I flung open the door and tried to close it behind me, but I wasn’t quick enough. They came in close at my heels. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking as I lurched forward and fumbled with the doorknob of the front closet. I still don’t understand how I managed to get inside and close the door. I held on tight to the doorknob, my knees weak. I lowered myself slowly to the floor.

I could hear the raccoons clawing at the door. And then there was silence.

Apparently, the new surrounding was interesting enough to be a distraction, or perhaps they could smell food that was in the kitchen.

After a moment or two, I could hear them walking around, investigating. I knew they’d reached the kitchen when I heard little barks and growls. Then came the sounds of dishes clanging and falling on the floor, some of them shattering, of the trash can being knocked over, and of cupboards opening and slamming.

Gradually, the noise subsided.

It’s quiet now, save for the occasional times when a raccoon comes and waits just outside the closet door. I know it’s there. I think it wants me to know. There seems to be a particular presence of evil whenever one of the raccoons is directly outside the closet door, just waiting.

………….

It’s very quiet now and has been for what feels like a long time. I’m thirsty, tired, and hungry. I am considering trying to get out. Perhaps they’re gone. Or sleeping.
………..

I’m ready. I have no idea what I am going to see when I open the door, but I am going to try to escape.

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Detective Parker was reading the note a second time when he heard a low growl behind him.

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