101 Words

“Who’s there?” Doug called, his familiar voice echoing louder through the dark halls than the chimes of the ancient doorbell.

“Don’t know yet,” Jane hollered, her annoyance clear, yet she smiled at the thought of late-night visitors providing her with escape.

She trudged down the hall, yanking up heavy skirts that kept her as trapped as this old house while Doug’s radio screeched about poor crops and escaped prisoners.

The bell chimed again as her fingers touched the knob.

That night, Jane escaped.

The investigators said the killer chose the house because of the unhappiness leaking out from under the door.

Howling at the moon is so passé. My parents do it. My grandparents. Even my older, perfect sister does it. Perhaps it’s an inherited trait, but I’d never give in. I’m an evolved woman of the modern era.

Night creeps upon me. The moon’s pale face glows bright, making my skin prickle and throat itch. Trembling, I retrieve the phone from my purse and access my Twitter account. The urge is strong. I grind my teeth as my fingers crash through the letters A-H-H-O-O-O-O. Once I hit Send the urge dissolves. A sigh escapes me. That’s right. I’m an evolved woman.

When I ran into him, it hardly seemed real. He was finishing up repairing a flat tire on the bike trail, when I pulled over to help the stranger.

“No, I’m good here, baby. Thank ya though, man,” he said. His voice was oddly familiar, as was the flip of his grey hair; a startlingly handsome dude, probably in his early eighties. As I prepared to leave, I eyed him with suspicion. Sensing it, he said, “Hey man, can we keep this meeting between me and you?”

“No problem,” I said.

He finished up, and pedaled away, humming “Don’t be Cruel.”