This is a story. It never happened and never will. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

BR&T date: Wednesday, 12 March 1997

On that fateful moonless night, the stars thrust vainly to penetrate the woven white fabric of clouds, while merciless winds tormented the naked outstretched limbs of the elm tree shrieking just outside Cindy's window. Cindy had never experienced such a maelstrom before, never known such an assault. The strength of it rattled her entire house, seeking to flush out some other victims than the trees, making it creak and shudder from the unimaginable forces of Nature galloping unbridled across the expanse of the Great Plains states.

'I hate dark and stormy nights,' the eight-year-old girl lamented. 'Ha, I could write a story like that, with all the new words I've learned in school,' she smiled, despite her fear of the storm. But she only smiled for a moment. Outside, the elm tree groaned like a miserable bull. Or it could have actually been a miserable bull, escaped from the livestock pens, trotting past her farmhouse seeking shelter. She wasn't sure, and it hardly mattered. The sound frightened her. She pulled the covers over her head and huddled down on her bed, unable to shut out the howls and moans.

Her mother appeared at the door of her bedroom. "Cindy, we have to go to the cellar. The weatherman on the radio says there's been a tornado sighted close by and heading our way. Get up and come with me, right now."

Cindy leapt from her bed, smoothed her pretty lavender nightie down, snatched up Tickles, her long-whiskered mousy doll (missing an ear after some rough play by the family cat, Scratches), and ran after her mother.

Awkwardly donning her small red raincoat by the side entrance, she nervously watched as her mother unlatched the door and opened it. The wind slammed the door shut, and her mother tried again, forcing it open and holding it, allowing Cindy to step underneath her arm and open the screen door. Cindy screamed as the wind ripped the handle from her grasp and tore the door off the hinges. She trembled, unwilling to step out into the torrential rain. Her mother prodded her, then pushed, and followed her out, closing the inner door behind them. The wind's fist wrenched her mother's umbrella loose and hurled it out of sight in an instant, eliciting screams from both of them. There was no point in searching for it. Too late to do much good, Cindy pulled up the hood of her raincoat and held it tightly over her head, pinching the front together with both hands to keep it closed against the downpour, just open enough that she could see. One hand clutched her mousy doll.

'Tickles is getting wet!' she noticed. 'Well, better her than me!'

The lustful wind raised the loose flaps of Cindy's raincoat like the wings of a terrified bird, and lifted her nightie to her waist as often as not. Spurted sideways by enthusiastic gusts, icy rain licked Cindy's cheeks and lips, then drooled down her legs as she ran. Envious clouds dropped lightning to get a peek.

With only a flashlight and a radio, the pair hurried toward the yard light on the barn. Before they reached it, everything went dark. The yard light, the lights glowing from the house behind them, every light they could normally see from neighbors in the distance. Her mother switched on the flashlight and pulled Cindy along faster. They reached the door to the cellar, opened it, stumbled down the short wooden walk, and sat on two small chairs near the back wall. The old wooden cellar door held most of the wind at bay, but half-heartedly, since it hung crooked on its rusted hinges and only loosely fit the doorframe.

"At least we'll have plenty to eat," Cindy tried to smile, indicating the shelves lining the small underground cave, which were full of her mother's canning output from previous summers. She placed Tickles on a shelf near her. She wondered if it would be polite to squeeze people to get moisture out of them. Only if they wanted her to, she guessed.

Her mother shut off the flashlight to save the batteries. Within the walls of the root cellar, the two breathed easier, but the storm outside reminded them it hadn't forgotten them. A momentous crack, followed by tearing and slamming, penetrated Cindy's small private place of comfort. The noise terrified her.

"Stay here!" her mother warned, needlessly. Cindy was far too timid to go see what had caused the noise. She hunched over and hugged her arms together, shivering, as her mother opened the door and looked out at the storm. Cindy disliked sitting in the dark and cold in just her raincoat and her nightie, but it was better than being outside. Her mother shut the door and returned to the back of the cellar. "I think something hit the house. We'll see in the morning, when the storm is over." She shut off the flashlight again.

The dark embraced Cindy's slender form, wrapping her in its lecherous touch. She felt clammy fingers on her face and neck. In fright, she pushed them away, only to discover her long straight black hair, soaked from the rain, clinging to her like slimy tentacles. The radio cackled, humorlessly, laughing mockingly at her fear. Bright lightning flashes exposed the cracks in her sanctuary. Rude fingers of chill wind probed in the crevices and holes, sneaking under her raincoat, even under her nightie, intruding, touching, fondling, even after the little girl fell asleep.