jarred lay listening for the sounds
listening. always listening. never doing. never interupting. just listening.
the sounds started.
normally they didn't start so soon after he went to bed.
maybe. . . . no - he won't think that. too depressing.
he was under his bed, clutching his doona to his small body, waiting and listening.
the sounds were always strange to him.
jarred never'd have the nerve to find out what the sounds were.
they always started off slow. long intervals.
squeak. . . . . . . . . squeak. . . . . . . . . . . squeak. . . . . . . .
and soft.
but eventually, inevetibably, intorably they'd get louder and faster.
squeak. . . . squeak. . . . . squeak.
and the subtle noises and groans and moans would become less stiffled, more pronounced.
the groans and moans scared jarred.
he wondered as he always did, what his mother was doing with the new stranger.
squeak. . squeak. . SQUEAK!
