287. Definitely not coping (2)

When dusk settles in and I start hearing the usual rattling in the gutters instead of turning the radio on full blast and doing the witchlike dance of banging the down pipe and and jumping around on the uneven wooden floor to create a hollow echo that resonates all over the house through the foundations (a cellar or rather a cave dug in the rock) I stand firm and claim my ground.

Calm, rational and courageous me will simply go up to the attic, turn the light on and enjoy a peaceful evening sipping a drink under the lime tree before heading up to bed for a restful night.

There is no need to fret. Every time I have been up there to assess the situation the little cowards were no where to be seen, having quite rightly run away from me. 

Up the stairs I go. I reach the landing and with no hesitation in my step I open the attic door. I am on the third step.

Eeeeeeeeek.

Eeeeeeeeek.

I am frozen still on the fifth step. This noise is clearly a weasel trilling away. I must keep calm and stay determined. This one must be outside in the gutter or maybe even on the roof. I go up the sixth step. And the seventh. And the eighth.

Eeeeeeeeeek.

The sound is so clear and so ... close. I rush up the resining steps and - it is dark up here - press the first switch I find. The light does not come on. I should have bought that bulb. 

Eeeeeeeeeek.

Dearie me. The animal is in here somewhere and the sound is getting closer. It must be running towards me to stop me from turning the light on.

Eeeeeeeeeek.

I swivel round and clack clack clack clack I run down the stairs and when I reach the door I slam it so hard the whole house shakes and trembles. I keep running all the way downstairs and into the safety of the kitchen but the large spider is still in there and it must be a sort of mutiny from the animal world and so I run out into the garden.