The drumbeat of the rain upon the slate roof was an unrelenting hiss of white noise. It was loud and insistent, even drowning out the sound of the wind and wild waves that were battering the beach a few hundred metres from the front door. Even rain wasn't enough to mask the sound of the rolls of thunder that were occurring with increasing frequency though, and Ben whined softly and shifted closer, resting his little furry head on his owner's thigh and sighing softly when she began to stroke his ears.
"It's okay, Ben," she soothed. "Just a storm."
She loved the storms that would occasionally pound the rugged coastline. The eerie yellow light that so often heralded them, and the monstrous, threatening black clouds that would gather menacingly in the sky. The howl of the wind, whipping around her cottage like a savage animal while she and Ben were safely cocooned inside. The lightning that would briefly illuminate the false twilight of the sky and seem to ground itself in the swirling, tempestuous ocean. The rolls of thunder that occasionally sounded like the planets above were colliding in some game of cosmic pool. The dog was not so much a fan and he trembled every time they occurred even when he was snuggled as close to as his owner as could be, as he was right now.
The storms left her feeling...replete in a strange way. That something so grand and so powerful was occurring all around and that she had the luxury of observing and enjoying it from the comfort of her sofa. Tonight was no different, and she stroked the little dog reassuringly as she revelled in the gorgeously cosy orange glow from the fireplace that softly illuminated the living room.
The power had gone out about half an hour ago, so flames were the only lights available. This wasn't an unusual occurrence during a storm and she had had the foresight to fill a thermos with boiling water from the kettle when she observed the clouds approaching, so she could still have tea whilst she sat. It was getting late and bedtime wouldn't be too far, but Ben wouldn't sleep until the storm had abated somewhat, so she had resolved to stay awake and see it through. Not that it was a hardship to do so.
She wondered, as she sometimes did when her mind was idle, if this was a reason why she lived without the company of fellow humans. To be able to experience these moments by herself, all on her own, with no other influences. To truly feel everything she wanted to in these grand moments of nature as deeply as she wanted without fear of judgement or ridicule.
Or perhaps it really was an aid to her writing, as she so often told those who enquired after her happiness, their judgment that no one could be truly content without somebody to share their life with writ large on their expressions every single time. The eccentric writer angle had been the best way to move on from questions such as that, she had discovered. If she claimed that interruption of solitude would also stem the flow of creativity, people seemed more inclined to leave the subject be.
The truth was more complex and mostly hidden, as it so often is. Loneliness wasn't something she had ever really struggled with, simply preferring her own company and the space and time to do what she wanted to do without having to accommodate anyone else's wishes. Ben was usually all the companion she ever needed. But loneliness was a peculiar beast and on those rare times when it did awake it howled within her, demanding her attention, demanding she sate it.
Romantic love had been something experienced deeply but fleetingly in the past, and had never been truly reciprocated. The devastation of heartbreak had cast long shadows for a time, inspired behaviours in which she took no pride, but now she was older, settled in her skin, happy with who she was and the icy shards of sorrow that had previously pierced her were merely scar tissue, healed over and part of her being.
The navel gazing was interrupted by Ben - his ears suddenly pricked and a quiet but unmistakeable growl beginning to build as he looked toward the door of the cottage.
"What's wrong?" she asked him gently. "Is that storm bothering you again?"
Ben flicked his gaze to her once before setting it firmly on the door again, his discomfort evident and growing. She patted his head comfortingly.
"Nothing to worry about, lovely boy. It will pass."
Ordinarily her touch and the sound of her voice would reassure him enough that he would settle back against her, perhaps giving a quiet woof as if to warn the storm that he was here and he wasn't happy with it. But tonight he remained on edge, leaning forward over the edge of the sofa, his ears back in displeasure.
"Heeeyyy," she said in a placating tone, but this time he didn't even spare a glance, instead jumping down to the plush rug-covered floor and stalking toward the door, his attention fixed on that one space. The growl that had been rumbling along reached a crescendo, and then he began to bark loudly.
"Ben!" she called, a faint note of scolding now in her voice. "it's okay. Just noise. You know what the storms sound like!" Ben continued the torrent of noise, and it began to rise to a slightly frenzied sound.
"What is it?" she demanded, a note of panic entering her voice.
He wasn't usually like this. Even if a bird or a rabbit caught his attention while out on a walk his barking would be playful and joyous. But now she could hear the frenetic edge to his voice – "Warning! Danger! Unknown!" - and it put her on edge too.
As she crossed to the window and moved the curtain aside to better see what was happening, a lightning bolt rent the sky and for one terrible, icy-dread filled moment, time seemed to stand still.
A craft.
That was the only word for it. It wasn't a plane, or helicopter, or a drone or hot air balloon, nor was it any of the other myriad things that flashed through her mind as familiar, albeit rare to see (especially in a storm of this magnitude). It was something other. Something so unknown that it forced her eye to the spot it had occupied in the sky above the ocean and held it there, even after the flash of light had been and gone and darkness once again filled her vision.
It had looked as though it were falling.
Belatedly, she dragged her line of sight downward to the raging ocean below. Was it an over-active imagination that made her see an extra big wave, even more spume and white foam rising against the black water? With no moonlight and torrential rain lashing the window it was difficult to see anything through the windowpane, but could that really be something huge and outlandish bobbing its way to shore? As soon as she had the thought it became redundant, as whatever it might have been was either swallowed by the turbulent waters or floated out of sight.
Or it was never there at all and you've allowed your imagination to be taken over by a power cut and your dog barking at a storm, she told herself sternly. Belatedly, she realised Ben had retreated behind her legs and his yaps were now interspersed with soft whines again. She scooped him up and held him close.
"It's okay, boy," she assured him. "Nothing to worry about." She hoped he had more belief in her words than she did. "Come on," she said softly, holding him close for her comfort as much as for his. "Let's go to bed."