From the Roof
This is the first horror story I ever wrote.
I wrote this long ago. It’s disturbing that my first horror story is somewhat autobiographical.
FROM THE ROOF
“You won’t believe the creep I met at work today,” I tell my cat Minnie Maude.
The large black and white Maine Coon jumps down from the picture window dominating the front of my living room. She pads across the hardwood floor and jumps onto the couch next to me.
I plump up a pillow and lean against it. Minnie Maude props her front paws on my lap and gazes up at me. “This guy came into the bookstore giving off terrible vibes. I mean, I was shaking. I asked him, ‘Can I help you?’ He turned to me and stretched his mouth into a big smile.”
Minnie Maude begins purring loudly and climbs into my lap, where she turns around a couple times before curling up, still purring.
I pet the cat but grimace at the memory. “He drifted toward the counter and had this slimy drawl. Bet he thought he was so suave. He said, ‘I’m just browsing.’ But instead of looking at books, he leaned his arm on the counter and grinned at me. Next he kept following me around the shop, asking personal questions — like, ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ Usually if I say yes, they give up, but he didn’t. I kept shelving books, and he kept pestering me.” Minnie…