Jesse

I didn't whisper.

I said it at normal volume, steady, flat.

The way Mama delivered statements she expected to be obeyed.

Silence.

I said it again.

I said, you're not welcome here.

Get off this porch and don't come back.

I heard the porch boards creak.

One small shift of weight, then another.

Then I heard something that made every hair on my body stand up.

A sound from the other side of the door, from very close, from a height that was level with my face, or just above it.

A low, rumbling vibration that wasn't a growl and wasn't a voice and wasn't mechanical.

It was organic and deep and it resonated in my sternum.

Like standing next to a cello being played at the lowest possible register.

A sound that went through the door and through my chest and into the bones behind my ribs.

It lasted about three seconds.

Then the porch steps creaked.

One, two, three, going down, then gravel, then nothing.

I stood at the door until my legs gave out and I sat on the floor with my back against it.

Captain crawled out from under the coffee table and put his head on my thigh, and I put my hand on his back and we sat there until dawn.