My Scariest Moment
By Amy Brecount White
My husband and I were newlyweds and had rented a log cabin outside Charlottesville, Virginia, where he was in graduate school. (Incidentally, that’s where my first novel, Forget-Her-Nots, is set.) It was a show model for a company that sold new log cabin kits and was on the property of an older widow. She had planted fragrant pastel irises in front of the cabin, and it was a wonderful place to escape to after a day of teaching middle schoolers how to write. (Irises mean “a message” in the language of flowers.) However, both my husband and the widow were out of town, so I was all alone in the cabin. [Cue the music: dum, dum, dum, duh.]
I’d stayed up reading late, because the setting seemed so dark and quiet and lonely. We were about half a mile from any other houses – definitely not screaming distance — and our door locks were unimpressive. I finally turned out my light and closed my bedroom door, but it didn’t have a lock on it.
I fell asleep for while, but then woke up suddenly because I’d heard a stiff rustling noise. It sounded like someone was rifling through our stuff, maybe even pushing things around. The sound was right at my door. I was sure someone had climbed in a window or broken the locks.
Should I stay in bed? Scream my guts out? I lay there, my head pounding, wondering if the noise was someone’s arm brushing the door or dumping all our papers looking for … I didn’t know what. I started to sweat; I was too terrified to cry. My heartbeat pulsed like mad, and I repeated a prayer in my head. Please, God, don’t let me die. My life was just starting!
Finally, I couldn’t take another second. I jumped up, turned the light on, and threw open the door. The noise stopped for a second, but I didn’t see anyone.
“Go away!” I yelled. “Leave me alone.” No one, no voice, no movement answered me. Then I heard the rustling again. I listened more carefully. The noise wasn’t in the other room; the rustling was coming from the floor … from … the trash can. I picked up a piece of paper near the top of the can, and a huge brown moth flew up into my face. I batted it away and burst into tears.
The moth must have gotten trapped under the paper and had flapped its wings like crazy to escape. But it couldn’t. I wanted to laugh, but I felt like I’d lost ten years of my life to a moth.
So the message the irises were sending me: Chill that overactive imagination.
But writers need an overactive imagination, don’t they?
Thanks so much for having me, Jessica, and many spooky returns!
Forget-Her-Nots by Amy Brecount White Publisher: Greenwillow Books (March 2nd, 2010) Reading Level: Young Adult Hardcover: 384 pages When someone leaves three mystery flowers outside her dorm door, Laurel thinks that maybe the Avondale School isn't so awful after all — until her own body starts to freak out. In the middle of her English presentation on the Victorian Language of Flowers, strange words pop into her head, and her body seems to tingle and hum. Impulsively, Laurel gives the love bouquet she made to demonstrate the language to her spinster English teacher. When that teacher unexpectedly and immediately finds romance, Laurel suspects that something — something magical — is up. With her new friend, Kate, she sets out to discover the origins and breadth of her powers by experimenting on herself and others. But she can’t seem to find any living experts in the field of flower powers to guide her. And her bouquets don't always do her bidding, especially when it comes to her own crush, Justin. Rumors about Laurel and her flowers fly across campus, and she's soon besieged by requests from girls — both friends and enemies — who want their lives magically transformed — just in time for prom.
Thank you so much Amy for taking time to write a story and for the great swag donation!
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