On the table there was a book and sticking out of it was a bookmark. It was an envelope. She used envelopes and train tickets and dry cleaning receipts and other bits of pieces of that sort as book marks.
The book was illuminated by an old banker’s lamp, creating a circular shape of yellow light around it. Outside the yellow shape was a darker zone, which filled the rest of the room, as the lamp was the only light on in the study. This was the only light left on, when she left the room.
She was out. Doing her work.
The house was still and quiet. It was enshrouded by gloom. Floorboards creaked and timber beams shifted when the wind blew, and this particular part of the mountain was known for its high winds and cold temperatures at night.
The sound of shrieking – an animal in distress – could be heard. But briefly. It stopped.
On the part of the envelope which poked out from the pages of the book could be read the words:
“To Do
Gloria”
And the rest of the words were obscured.
She walked back towards the kitchen door, at the rear of the property, covered in blood, and shaking a little. A lamp still hung from the rafters in the barn.
Gloria had had her calf.
Johan Turdenmeier's Miscellany 