Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-31294034-20170215180000/@comment-28060931-20170215191504

After a hot shower and a quick change into something more comfortable[Why am I thinking of some film noir romance scene here, "How about I change into something more comfortable, Dick?"] Sarah sat down to read. Lately her mind had been fixated on tales of love, lust, murder, and mystery. After a cup of tea and a few chapters of her newest literary fixation a soft scratching sound was heard. It didn't at all sound like the sound[sound is redundant.] of her cat scraping its claws against her door, letting her know it wanted in. But still she set her book aside and went over to open her bedroom door to let the little critter in.'''[it sounded nothing like the cat, but she assumed it must be the cat?"

When she opened her door she discovered that the cat wasn't there and was instead sleeping on the couch in the living room. She brushed the sound off as nothing more than a product of her subconscious as[this is not a mistake just a personal thought: I think the story would flow better if you relaced 'as' with a comma.] her cat always wanted to be let in or out of her bedroom. She closes her door and returns to her chair.[the tenses changed halfway through] After a sip of tea she hears it again, this time from the direction of the window opposite her bed.

Now alert she turns her head to scan the room, absolutely sure she had heard something scratching at the base of her window. This time she doesn't brush it off to return to her book like she did the time beforE[I would rephrase this sentence.]' No, instead she sits up in her chair and listens, trying her best to stay completely still, waiting to hear it again.

A few moments pass but to her it must have felt like several minutes. Slowly yet surely she leans back in her chair. This time when she moves to grab her book the soft scratching noise resurfaces. In her eyes you can just see her trying to write the noises off as the shrubbery beneath her window being manipulated[jostled, shaken would be better verbs.] by the fall breeze. But even so, you can tell from the way she holds herself so completely still that she doesn't totally believe what her mind is telling her.

And then it dawns on her. The curtains hanging over the window aren't really curtains at all. No, they are instead merely sun shades that been hanging there since the day she moved in. The intricate embroidery on them had charmed her into keeping them. And, while they did a great job at keeping the sun out of her eyes during the day, they did nothing to conceal the inside of her bedroom during the evening. No, they did just the opposite. They provided a one way window into her room, her life whilst keeping her from noticing what was happening on the other side.

Quickly, she switched off her table side lamp and as she did so the moonlight came streaming in through the small holes left in the fabric. Except in one spot in particular. Off to the side of the window was a shadow, a long, slim shadow that didn't cast itself over the full height of the window. She stared at it for a minute, then three. There were no poles or trees in her back yard, just a shoddy privacy fence that separated her home from the ones around her.

After snapping back to reality from her mental map of her property she saw that the shadow which had been there just a few seconds ago had vanished.[The ending was a bit sudden, I would add some more build-up or be more descriptive at the end.]

I would have mentioned the shades earlier because it felt like a deux ex machina moment, a god from the machine moment, to me anyway. Adding some atmospheric detail involving the shades would defintely make it seem less like a convenience.

Also, there was awkward wording here and there, so just proofread more. I've said this so much that I'm sick of it myself despite the fact that I have trouble taking even my own medicine.

Also, you realize Res was just joking and you don't have to get defensive every time a comment on your post isn't a review.