| General Fiction posted April 22, 2024 |
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A noise in the dark
Intruder
by gansach
I don't know what wakes me.
As I lie here in the dark, trying to gather my sleep-clogged thoughts, I feel something isn't right. It has to be midnight or later. My room is pitch black. Not unusual being that I'm sleeping in the basement of my parents' house.
Previously, my brother, recently married, had occupied the basement bedroom and, when I moved back home between apartments, my old room had already been reborn as my mom's den. Thus my residency in the lowest level, even though I don't care much for it. Remnants of those childhood fears of scary things down here flutter through my mind like ghostly wisps.
I put on a brave front. After all, I'm an adult now and know better, right? Right?
And it's peaceful and quiet, but wait . . . that's what's wrong.
Suddenly, I'm wide awake, straining to hear. There it is, a soft rustling coming from the other side of the basement. My heart begins to pound. It sounds as if someone is moving stealthily, the rustling like the brushing of a windbreaker.
Oh my God! Someone is down here. They must've broken in. That's what woke me. They broke in and now they're creeping through the basement, heading for the stairs . . . right next to my room! My accordion door at the foot of the bed is closed so they have no idea I'm down here.
I'm safe as long as I don't make a sound unless . . . they decide to open my door and check out what's in here.
But wait! What if they're going upstairs to rob the house? What if my parents wake up and come out to investigate?
Oh my God! My parents could be killed while I lie down here like a coward. I need to warn them! I need to call the police!
But, if I make noise trying to get upstairs, they could kill me first, then my parents.
What should I do?
I need a weapon!
I have a pair of scissors on my desk across the room. But how do I get there without making any noise?
Inch by excruciating inch, I remove my covers. Straining every abdominal muscle, I slowly rise to a sitting position. I pause to listen. I still hear the rustling. The intruder is creeping just as carefully in the pitch dark, feeling his way to the stairs.
I tiptoe, cautious step by step, arms outstretched to feel any obstacles, praying I don't trip or bump into anything noisy.
Here's the corner desk. I carefully probe the top until my fingers contact the leather pen-holder, creep upward, find the scissors.
Slowly I turn (sorry, couldn't resist--old schtick), scissors clutched, weapon-like in my fist, raised to attack. I make my way, stepping silently, to the accordion door. On the other side is the staircase, but . . .
Once I whip open the door, I will have to run like hell to the top of the stairs. I don't know how close this intruder is. I can't let him grab me before I make my escape. What if he has a gun?
I take a deep breath and hold it. I listen. I still hear the rustling of his movement. It doesn't sound too close yet.
It's now or never.
I fling open the door, scramble clumsily for the steps. I start racing on all fours to the top, trying not to stab myself with the scissors.
But wait . . . I pause in my headlong flight.
I hear nothing from below.
No reaction, no shout, no pounding feet.
Only the pounding of my heart . . . and the soft rustling of the windbreaker.
Hold on! I go to the top of the stairs and turn on the basement light. I make my way down and peer into the half of the basement that is not my bedroom.
I see nothing. But I still hear the rustling.
Then I notice it's pretty cold on this side and make my way around the furnace to see dry, brown leaves blowing gently across the cement section of the floor.
The breeze moving them, causing the leaves to rustle, is coming from the broken window. There is glass all over the floor.
Oh my God! There's a windy, October storm going on outside. I'm so insulated from sound down here, I don't know what's going on out there. The leaves have blown in from the window well.
Well, don't I feel silly with a pair of scissors poised in my hand, ready to defend myself, my family, my home from evil invading leaves.
But . . . I didn't know that at the time. I was ready to defend myself, my family, and my home.
Well, now I feel better about myself.
I will get my pillow and blanket, let my dad know about the window, and spend the rest of this crazy night on the sofa upstairs.
My Worst Fear Writing Contest contest entry
I don't know what wakes me.
As I lie here in the dark, trying to gather my sleep-clogged thoughts, I feel something isn't right. It has to be midnight or later. My room is pitch black. Not unusual being that I'm sleeping in the basement of my parents' house.
Previously, my brother, recently married, had occupied the basement bedroom and, when I moved back home between apartments, my old room had already been reborn as my mom's den. Thus my residency in the lowest level, even though I don't care much for it. Remnants of those childhood fears of scary things down here flutter through my mind like ghostly wisps.
I put on a brave front. After all, I'm an adult now and know better, right? Right?
And it's peaceful and quiet, but wait . . . that's what's wrong.
Suddenly, I'm wide awake, straining to hear. There it is, a soft rustling coming from the other side of the basement. My heart begins to pound. It sounds as if someone is moving stealthily, the rustling like the brushing of a windbreaker.
Oh my God! Someone is down here. They must've broken in. That's what woke me. They broke in and now they're creeping through the basement, heading for the stairs . . . right next to my room! My accordion door at the foot of the bed is closed so they have no idea I'm down here.
I'm safe as long as I don't make a sound unless . . . they decide to open my door and check out what's in here.
But wait! What if they're going upstairs to rob the house? What if my parents wake up and come out to investigate?
Oh my God! My parents could be killed while I lie down here like a coward. I need to warn them! I need to call the police!
But, if I make noise trying to get upstairs, they could kill me first, then my parents.
What should I do?
I need a weapon!
I have a pair of scissors on my desk across the room. But how do I get there without making any noise?
Inch by excruciating inch, I remove my covers. Straining every abdominal muscle, I slowly rise to a sitting position. I pause to listen. I still hear the rustling. The intruder is creeping just as carefully in the pitch dark, feeling his way to the stairs.
I tiptoe, cautious step by step, arms outstretched to feel any obstacles, praying I don't trip or bump into anything noisy.
Here's the corner desk. I carefully probe the top until my fingers contact the leather pen-holder, creep upward, find the scissors.
Slowly I turn (sorry, couldn't resist--old schtick), scissors clutched, weapon-like in my fist, raised to attack. I make my way, stepping silently, to the accordion door. On the other side is the staircase, but . . .
Once I whip open the door, I will have to run like hell to the top of the stairs. I don't know how close this intruder is. I can't let him grab me before I make my escape. What if he has a gun?
I take a deep breath and hold it. I listen. I still hear the rustling of his movement. It doesn't sound too close yet.
It's now or never.
I fling open the door, scramble clumsily for the steps. I start racing on all fours to the top, trying not to stab myself with the scissors.
But wait . . . I pause in my headlong flight.
I hear nothing from below.
No reaction, no shout, no pounding feet.
Only the pounding of my heart . . . and the soft rustling of the windbreaker.
Hold on! I go to the top of the stairs and turn on the basement light. I make my way down and peer into the half of the basement that is not my bedroom.
I see nothing. But I still hear the rustling.
Then I notice it's pretty cold on this side and make my way around the furnace to see dry, brown leaves blowing gently across the cement section of the floor.
The breeze moving them, causing the leaves to rustle, is coming from the broken window. There is glass all over the floor.
Oh my God! There's a windy, October storm going on outside. I'm so insulated from sound down here, I don't know what's going on out there. The leaves have blown in from the window well.
Well, don't I feel silly with a pair of scissors poised in my hand, ready to defend myself, my family, my home from evil invading leaves.
But . . . I didn't know that at the time. I was ready to defend myself, my family, and my home.
Well, now I feel better about myself.
I will get my pillow and blanket, let my dad know about the window, and spend the rest of this crazy night on the sofa upstairs.
This did happen when I was in my 20s, before cell phones. While I have many fears of various types that change as I age and know better, this little incident incorporates several I had at the time--dark, basements, intruders, murder. And while all of those were baseless in this case, the fear was real when I thought they were happening. So I did feel better that, while I thought I was facing an armed intruder in a dark basement, I was ready to protect what I loved.
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and 2 member cents. Artwork by Linda Bickston at FanArtReview.com
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© Copyright 2024. gansach All rights reserved.
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