Run and Hide

I bolt upright, my chemistry textbook sliding off my chest and crashing to the ground. Sitting up, I chance a glance around the living room, unsure what startled me from my sleep. Nothing has changed though. Colorful images still flash across the TV screen, the rumble of voices low and barely audible. A stack of textbooks is balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table, Styrofoam containers and sheafs of notebook paper are strewn across the surface. The curtains covering the window that faces the front yard are partially drawn, leaving enough space to look out and see the warm glow emanating from the street lamps.

I rub my eyes blearily, reaching for my phone and checking the time. 12:03 AM. I groan and sink into the couch cushions, closing my eyes. And then I hear it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My brain registers it as the noise that had woken me up earlier. I strain my ears, listening again for the noise, but silence has fallen over the house once more. Though it isn’t long before I hear it again, closer and more insistent this time.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

The unmistakable sound of fingers lightly connecting with a glass surface, attempting to get someone’s attention.

My attention.

My eyes immediately dart to the front window, expecting to see the source of the finger tapping through the gap in the curtains. But, no one is there.

My phone pings and vibrates with an incoming text message, startling me. Unlocking my phone, I see the message is from an unknown number. The text is only 3 words long, but those 3 words are enough to make my blood run cold: Let me in.

I quickly type back: Who is this?, thinking it’s someone from school pranking me. Alex probably, the class clown.

My thumbs hover over the screen as I wait for a response. It isn’t long before three bubbles appear, indicating that the sender is typing. I receive another text within seconds: Let me in, Emma, followed by 3 sharp raps at the front door. I nearly drop my phone in shock, but compose myself.

Still thinking it’s a joke, I reply: Very funny, Alex. You got me, okay? I’m spooked.

Another text: This isn’t Alex. And then a picture.

I squint at the screen, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. And then it clicks. It’s a picture of me, asleep on the couch. Someone was watching me through the window as I slept.

I stand up abruptly, staring out the window, but still seeing nothing.

My phone pings again. Once. Twice. Three more times. My fingers shake as I glance down, seeing 3 more pictures have been sent – one of me sitting on the couch studying, another one of me eating dinner in front of the TV, and a third of me standing and staring at my phone is disbelief.

I cry out and drop my phone to the carpet, suddenly feel dizzy, sick to my stomach, and enraged all at once. I storm over to the window, throwing open the curtains and locking eyes with a face pressed up against the window. I let out a scream and stumble backwards, the backs of my knees colliding with the coffee table, sending the stack of books tumbling to the ground.

I see the figure dart across the yard and for a moment, I think he’s (she’s?) gone. But suddenly, a fist begins pounding menacingly against the wooden panels of the front door, a gruff voice screaming and increasing in volume, “LET me in. LET ME in. LET ME IN.” He shakes the doorknob violently and when he realizes it’s locked, begins kicking the door again and again in anger. I can hear the wood splintering with each forceful kick.

Not wanting to wait and see if he successfully breaks in, I race out of the living room and down the hallway, slipping in my socks on the hardwood floor. I catch my balance and bound up the stairs. I don’t dare look back, afraid to see that he’s broken in and is chasing me. Pursuing me. Reaching for me. At the top, I stumble and fall, frantically scrambling on all fours down the hall and into my room. I slam the door shut, wishing I had a lock on my door, and glance around wildly, trying to decide which is a better hiding spot – under the bed or in the closet.

The sound of splintering wood reverberates from downstairs, cutting across my thoughts and forcing me to make a split-second decision. I shut myself into the closet quietly, climbing over a mound of shoes and my gym bag, huddling in the corner of the closet and attempting to hide myself between the jackets and dresses.

I can hear the man stomping around downstairs, opening and closing doors, tossing things aside, and calling out for me. It isn’t long before I hear his slow, deliberate steps making their way up the wooden staircase. He throws open the door to each room in succession, searching inside and getting angrier and angrier when he doesn’t find me inside. Until finally, he reaches the door of my room. It opens easily and he immediately begins searching – under my desk, under my bed, behind the curtains. There is only one place left he hasn’t checked. I can almost feel his eyes zeroing in on the closet.

“Oh Emma, I know you’re in here.” He singsongs.

My heart hammers against my ribcage and I clamp my hand over my mouth to mask my breathing. My legs ache from crouching in the corner, but I don’t dare move for fear of revealing myself. The sound of his footsteps get closer and closer to the closet. I hide my face in my arms, trying to make myself as small as possible, knowing that I’ll be visible to him if he looks hard enough.

A large hand shoves the closet door open. For a second, he just stands in the entrance to the closet. I can imagine his eyes sweeping over the contents of the closet, pretending to look for me, but knowing I’m hiding in here and wanting to make it seem like I’m safe. Like I got away with something. His breathing is ragged and I can smell his sour breath – a mixture of cigarettes and booze. It’s nauseating and it takes all my willpower not to cough or cover my nose. I hear him cross the threshold of the closet, the jackets and dresses concealing me suddenly shoved out of the way.

“Hello darling. I found you.” He sneers, grabbing my ponytail, pulling me out of the closet and throwing me to the ground.

My knee connects with the hardwood floor and I groan in pain. He yanks me up, wrapping his left arm around my neck and pulling me close to him. Stars appear in my vision as he tightens his grip on me. Somehow, I find the strength and sense to bite his forearm. Hard. He recoils in pain, loosening his grip on me and allowing me to stand. I shove him backwards for good measure, his head connecting with the floor, and scramble out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I race down the stairs, a loose floorboard tripping me and sending me sprawling to the ground. I lie there, stunned for several seconds, until the door to my room flies open and the man begins charging down the hallway, shouting expletives at me. I scurry to my feet and sprint back down the hallway towards the front door, now just a gaping hole in the wall. Splinters of wood litter the ground, digging into my socked feet. Ignoring the stabbing pain and the sound of the man’s heavy sprint, I exit the house and race down the front steps into the night.

At the end of the driveway, I pause for a moment to catch my breath and still my racing heart, unsure of where to go. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. I just wanted to get out of the house.

“EMMMAAA!” The man shouts from the doorway.

I weigh my options – let the man chase me into the woods or through the winding subdivision. I watch as the man glances around, finally seeing me at the end of the driveway. He begins racing towards me. I veer right, running in the direction of the woods. I chance a glance behind me and see the man pursuing me like a predator chasing its prey.

I reach the edge of the woods and dart into the shadowy forest, my socked feet pounding on the dirt floor, pine needles and dead needles crunching beneath my heels with every footfall. My heart thumps beneath my chest, resounding in my ears, almost deafening me. But I can still hear it – heavy footsteps bounding towards me. The man is still chasing me.

I urge my legs to move faster, despite the stabbing pain in the soles of my feet, heading deeper into the woods against my better judgment. The moon, tonight only a small sliver, barely lights up the path in front of me. Spindly arms of almost bare trees reach for me, threatening to slow me down. The cool October air squeezes my lungs, making it nearly impossible to breath. I risk a glance behind me, losing my focus and causing my ankle to collide with something solid and sending me crashing to the ground. I glance at the offender – a fallen log – as I rub my tend knee. Suddenly, a voice calls out.

“You can run, but you can’t hide, Emma.” The man’s voice sounds cold. Murderous.

I get to my feet, forcing myself to continue running despite the now throbbing pain in my knee. With each step, my lungs throb in my chest, threatening to burst from lack of oxygen. I force myself to slow down and slip behind a tree, collapsing to the ground to catch my breath.

Over the sound of my heavy breathing, I hear it – slow deliberate footsteps approaching my hiding spot for the second time that night. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to mask my breathing, but a hand grabs me roughly by my ponytail, pulling me backwards this time. I try to scramble away, but the man’s black boot comes crashing down, pinning me to the ground. Something glints in his right hand. Something he didn’t have before. A knife.

“Why are you doing this?” I stammer.

“Because, Emma, someone has to pay.”

I attempt to stand, but he pulls me back down.

“You’re done running, Emma. You’re mine now.”