I woke instantly, the feeling that something was wrong wormed its way from my brain to the base of my spine. It was still dark outside, a street light gave the room an eerie glow. The silence weighed down on me, crushing, suffocating. The only sound is my breathing, completely still I hold my breath and that's when I heard the floorboard creek down the hall. Creek, it was more like a shotgun going off. It's that one board that everyone avoids. If you could jump out of your skin then mine was still under the duvet, I was standing and my heart was beating hammer blows against my chest.
What do I do,
what do you do,
Jesus christ
Panic takes control of my breathing, louder than a car driving over a cattle grid. Do I hide under the bed or do I risk darting for my parents bedroom. I take a step toward the door, hold my breath and count to ten.
Nothing.
I take two more steps and repeat the process, still nothing. I reach out to the door handle and pause, fully aware and silently cursing
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Here I am.
This door handle creek's, I'd been begging my dad to sort it for years but no joy, 'gives it character' he would say, it would cut the silence like a drunken klaxon dribbling at full volume,
I'm here, I'm here, come and kill me.
If I went slow, it would be an agonising five seconds. If I went for speed, it would be short and sharp, either way my presence is advertised like the religious nutters preaching in the town square.
Yoohoo here I am.
Under the bed, hide, there is no better plan I tell myself.
What if he kills everyone and you could have prevented it.
Christ, I'm going to have to go for the quick dart down the hall, speed is of the essence.
What if he's outside the door, you need a plan.
Erm options, options.
My breathing calmed slightly as my concentration diverted to the conversation taking place in my head.
Then we slam the door, that should wake everyone and run for the window.
Then what.
Jump, that's the only choice.
You'd better hope he's the slowest killer there's ever been because there's a slight chance or more likely, definite chance that he's going to catch you before you've even made the window. That's not including the time it takes to open it and actually abscond.
Chances of skedaddling, virtually nil.
OK,OK, what about a scream, that should do it, relief floods inward, yes that'll do it.
Can you actually scream, have you ever screamed before?
Well no but how hard can it be, it's a bloody scream.
Screaming sounds easy, looks easy on TV but try it, your voice will catch, your throat will dry instantly and all that will come forth will be a croak, you will be incapable of speech, never mind a scream. Then you'll cough, game over.
Croak, cough, I'm in here.
You've alerted no one and you're soon to be dead.
I'm going to open the door quickly.
Finally a decision, congratulations.
I hold my breath, wrench the handle down and pull the door open, on my toes, poised, ready for action.
Nothing.
The curtain was open, the hall was illuminated enough to see, and nobody was there. I quickly walked down to my parents bedroom and flung the door open. The bed was empty, still made, not a crease or a body to be seen.
Strange, where are they?
Surely not downstairs at this hour.
You don't know what time it is.
It's night time, it's dark.
I crossed to my brother's room and opened the door, my breath caught. Again the bed was empty, like a showroom affair, ignoring of course the toys strewn all over the floor.
A slither of panic started in my gut, I clenched my eyes shut and smacked the side of my head. Opened my eyes, still exactly the same.
They've left you.
Where have they gone?
They must be downstairs.
At this hour.
Where else can they be
They've left or they're dead.
Come on, for real.
I walk to the top of the stairs. A feeling of dread permeates in the pit of my stomach, I feel cold.
I can see a light on downstairs and relief floods in, the dam of despair broken, temporarily.
I run downstairs, the noise horrendous.
A stampede of elephants, one of my father's favourite sayings, descending from above. I head for the living room, the source of the light, the lack of noise doesn't register. Just the desperation to see someone, to know that someone is in the house.
The doors ajar, I push in "what are you all do..".
My bottom lip trembles in frenzied alarm and confusion. A wall light is lit, apart from that the room is completely bare, there are no marks in the carpet from the settee or TV unit. The carpet looks new, untouched.
They've moved out and left you here.
Sick of your moods and lack of respect.
I'm a teenager, that's life.
You've tested their patience once too often.
I'm close to tears, my mind is mired in fog, emotions overtaking all senses.
Check the other rooms, quickly.
I turn and head for the kitchen, turning every light on out of habit. Like my arm is preprogrammed on entering any room. The kitchen is empty, I check the cupboards, nothing.
My stomach sinks further. I check the dining room, again nothing and I sob. Tears stream down my cheeks. Anguish and sheer terror grab hold of my body and squeeze.
I fall to my knees, fighting for breath, my stomach collapses and an unseen hand wraps around my chest crushing me, tighter and tighter. I'm going to die, this is it.
Where are they?
What have I done?
Why have they abandoned me?
I sob, the loneliness terrifies me, a weight pressing me into the floor.
I'm shivering.
And then the click of the front door closing.
It's him, you're trapped.
Quick, get behind the door.
The amount of noise I've made is a distant memory, lost, not even contemplated as I stifle the sobs, sniff and freeze rigid to the spot. I need to see if anyone is there.
He knows exactly where you are, if your life depended on your silence then you'd have been toast a long time ago.
Shush, I'm going to look out the door and see if anyone is there.
Oooh you are brave tonight.
I stand, then curse as my knee cracks and shake my head. I shove the thought of my excessive noise to the back of my mind in the ignore box. I peer into the hall, looking straight at the front door. Nothing.
Then I see it, my phone, smashed to pieces, lying on the floor by the front door, devoid of life and my contact to the outside world, dead.
Then the lights go out and the house is plunged into darkness. The timing couldn't have been any more perfect like someone is watching me, laughing at my actions.
Now I'm scared, scratch that I'm absolutely terrified, my nerves completely shredded.
What the fuck do I do now?
You've got two choices.
Out the front door and run.
Barricade yourself in your bedroom and wait it out, hope he dies of boredom.
I snort as the image of the killer's skeleton on the floor outside my bedroom ricochets round my empty mind. If I can get to my bedroom I can slip the chair under the door handle, that should do it, safe.
You hope.
I do bloody hope.
It'll work have confidence, if he tries anything I'll sit on the bed, window open. Ready to jump.
A back up plan, I like it. Let's do it.
OK, ready.
I'm ready.
Steady.
I'm steady.
Go.
I'm out the dining room like a leaping gazelle, picking up pace.
What was that?
What was what?
Front door, there's somebody there.
Somebody there, where?
I pause and turn my head to look at the frosted window of the front door.
There is somebody there.
I freeze instantly, ice in my veins, hairs standing up, attempting to flee the goosebumps. In my mind I see a shadow, one that looks like a figure, observing me.
My brain engages and my eyes narrow, waiting for movement.
The shadow gets bigger, pressing forward, seeking greater purchase on my sanity. Then just as quickly it's gone, dissipating as if collapsing under scrutiny.
I turn and run up the stairs, two at a time, oblivious to any danger ahead. Down the short hallway and bolt into my bedroom. I slam the door shut and grab my desk chair, nestling it under the handle. In my head the handle can't be pushed down, it's impossible for anyone to get in.
I'm safe.
Time to wait.
I'm good at waiting.
Or more to the point, you're good at doing nothing.
An expert you might say.
I start to calm, my breathing slows to just under hyperventilating status. My bedroom is dark, I cross to the window and crack the curtain open. Instantly closing them.
Oh christ there's a hooded figure at the bottom of the drive.
What the hell was that?
That is…
I need to look again, I don't want to look.
I really don't want to look.
Come on he won't see if you open it a finger's width.
OK, OK.
Calm down, calm it, slap your face and get a grip.
I slap my face, its a pretty poor effort, more of a feeble flick but it works. I place my finger in the gap, put my eye up close and take a look.
Whoever it is, lifts his head slightly as if sensing surveillance, my gut plummets and kisses the floor. The shadows seem to flicker beneath its hood as if colour and light are fighting for release but failing miserably. The arm rises and then I see it, the axe points at me like an accusing finger.
What the fuck, you're on your own kid, I'm outta here.
I step back.
My mind can't take it, betraying it's natural boundaries, fracturing under the stress. The pain is unbearable, right across the front of my forehead, the tension and adrenalin too much.
I crawl under the covers, covering myself completely as if invoking invisibility. The cover and the closeness is a comfort. The heat grows slowly in the claustrophobic atmosphere and pretty soon I'm breathing stale air. Tiredness creeps up like a skulking spider after it's prey.
You can't actually fall asleep now, there's somebody outside, danger, a killer.
I don't answer.
My mind is finally at rest.
“ADAM, TIME FOR SCHOOL”.
I jump, startled out of a heavy sleep, mum, that was mum, she's back.
“BREAKFAST”.
The bed is wet from sweat, I feel exhausted and there's, there is no chair under the door. My phone is on charge on the desk.
Confusion threads little tendrils through my mind as memories of my nightmare surface and get rejected. I go for a shower and slowly start to come together, my mind dismissing the fear and doubt, the dread of abandonment. I get dressed and open the curtain, recalling the figure that couldn't have been there. My eyes snap to something leaning against the open gate.
An axe?
Nightmare?
I clench my eyes shut, so tight it begins to hurt. Sick day?
Agreed.