The doors in the studio banged as something hit them.
Oh my god.I lunged for the next room, heart hammering, already dreading what I’d see.
Moonlight streamed through the studio’s big glass doors, leaving enormous rectangles across the floor. The possum’s shadow made a dark blot that stretched and twisted as it moved. It was already pawing at the doorknob.
I was halfway across the room when I heard theclickas the knob unlatched.
My shoulder hit the door before it was more than an inch or two open, knocking the possum back onto the balcony. I held it closed, fumbling for the bolt. Double doors, damnation, where was it, it had to be here somewhere…
The glass rocked as the possum struck it. The force wasastonishing. I am not a small woman, but it actually shifted the door a fraction despite my weight.
The door bolt was clear at the top of the frame. Of course it was. The possum slammed into the glass again as I shot the bolt. My hands were shaking so badly that it took me two tries.
It seemed that I was afraid now after all.
I stumbled back, ready to throw myself at the door again if needed. The creature continued its assault undaunted, smashing itself against the glass over and over,thud thud thud!
“Surely it can’t break the glass?” I said out loud. I think I was hoping to reassure myself, but my own voice rose at the end in a question, and I was not at all convincing.
I looked around the studio for something to block the lower panes, just in case it could. Easel, no—bookcase, too heavy, unless I pulled all the books out—trunk,yes!
The trunk weighed more than I’d expected. It occurred to me that I had no idea what was in it. Opening it would have felt like snooping, so I hadn’t. But the thud of the animal’s body against the glass gave me the strength of panic, and I grabbed the handles and hauled it step by step across the floor. The rug rucked up under it and the far end was probably leaving huge gouges in the wood, but I didn’t care.
I dropped to my knees and shoved it into position. It blocked the lower panes on the doors and I could no longer see the possum outside. The sound of the creature hitting the glass was suddenly muffled.
I collapsed across the trunk, gasping, my forehead pressed against the lid. The carved wood made indentations in my skin, and my vision filled with gritty sparks. The thudding seemed to come from very far away.
Dear god, am I about to faint?
Don’t be ridiculous. I never faint. It’s simply not something I do.I clenched my teeth and breathed through my nose, and after a minute or two, the sparkles went away.
It took me a few more minutes to realize that the thudding had stopped. I lifted my head, listening.
Silence.
I could move the chest and look…
I could also run upstairs and throw myself off the roof, I told myself tartly.Which would be just about as sensible.
Did I really think that a possum was intelligent enough to give up attacking the glass and lie in wait for me instead?
Intellectually, it seemed unlikely. But everything this particular possum had done was wildly unlikely, and I wasn’t going to test it now.
The wood of the chest was cool against my cheek. I knelt on the floor and waited grimly for the dawn.
“I know I sound like a perfect ninny,” I told Mrs. Kent the next morning, as we climbed the steps to the studio. “But it beat itself against the glass so hard that I thought it was going to break the door. And this morning…”
Mrs. Kent’s eyebrows had gone up when I started talking about the possum, and hadn’t yet come back down. “No,” she said, “no, I figure that would be upsetting, right enough.” I had a depressing feeling that she was humoring me, but insisting that no, therehadbeen a possum and ithadbeen scary was going to make me sound like one of my old students panicking over a mouse. I clamped my lips together and led the way up the stairs.
I promise I’m not the sort of person who imagines things, Mrs. Kent. I’m a scientist. A rational observer. I have trained for years to try and see what’s really there, not what I think should be there.
… And therewasa possum, and itwasscary, dammit.
When we reached the studio, she took one look at the chest in front of the door, then glanced back at me. I shrugged helplessly. I could feel the tips of my ears burning.
“Well, let’s get this moved, then,” she said, reaching down to take an end.
I grabbed the other, and was surprised by how heavy it was. Mrs. Kent gave me an appraising look. “You moved this all by yourself?”
