The Couch (Re-write)

By Ken Chandler

Copyright © 2010

Many years of thieving gave Felix Gorden ease and confidence in his craft. He approached the old house with an emotion bordering on alacrity. He’d reached the 80-year old woman’s country mansion on foot. His plan was to get in and out without waking her, then make his escape through the woods that paralleled her property. Before this night was over he’d be rich beyond his dreams, and he relished the idea of easy wealth. 


He found a white patio bench, hefted it to his chest and walked the 12 feet to the wall just below the window. He set it down in the flower garden and stepped up onto it so that the pane of the window was level with his chest. A small crowbar lifted the window enough to get strong gloved fingers under it. He pushed and the sash slid easily upward until it connected with the frame with a soft clunk. No alarms went off, no dogs barked, the way was clear. He heaved himself up into the open window, sat on the wide sill, tucked in his legs and spun into the room in one fluid motion. Nimbly he stepped onto bare hardwood flooring without a sound.

A quick glance around the room revealed a fire blazing cheerfully in a large red brick fireplace on the left hand side of the room. An oversized couch sat directly in front of it casting the majority of the room into a deep shadow. As far as he could tell there was no other furniture in the large room. Something about that couch seemed out of place. Perhaps it was the lack of other furnishings which troubled him. He mentally shrugged, deciding to keep his mind on the job at hand, not an old woman's decorating fancies. 

In an adjoining room he heard music softly playing and recognized the piece from his childhood. ‘Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 (2nd Movement)’ by the composer, Johann Sebastian Bach. It was a favorite of his mothers. He shook himself out of his thoughts with sudden awareness that the old woman might be awake after all. No, it was more likely that it was her ritual to fall asleep to music playing on the stereo by the bed. Felix mentally shrugged. Even if she were awake he could easily overpower her. 

He silently crept into the room. As he stood at the left end of the couch he could make out in the flickering light of the fire that the plush seat was covered in a course shag. He started to reach out to touch the curious covering but instead he froze. He 

quietly backed toward the window and as he did so he shifted his weight onto his left foot and grimaced as a board groaned loudly. 

A slight movement seized the corner of his eye, and he turned in time to see the couch heave then rest. An accompanying grunt and an exhalation paralyzed Felix. Four heavy appendages as thick as tree trunks extended from the object in front of the fire, went ridged then fell with heavy thuds. In that moment he knew that what he thought was a couch was instead a colossal pet. 

Felix felt the beast’s eyes bore into him, and heard a sound of shuffling, grunting and claws scraping against wood. In that moment senseless terror gripped him and Felix sprinted at the window but rebounded off of it with a thunderous bang. Dim moonlight shone on his stunned expression as he reached out and unsteadily touched the cool glass. A moment later he felt a blast of warm moist air on the back of his neck, and watched as the window instantly misted, the outside world instantly shut out. 

He leaned heavily against the window pane as resignation clenched him in a grip as cold and as fathomless as the deep of the ocean. He now wished he had taken his mother’s advice seriously, “Settle down, start a family,” she’d said. He knew that second chances were not forthcoming. He considered how different his life could have been, but too late. Music penetrated the darkness, and he recognized that the song had changed. He fell to his knees and wept as he recognized ‘Funeral March’, by Chopin.