My eyes opened, but I couldn’t move. Someone was watching me. Someone was in my room. I tried to bring the blanket over my head, but didn’t want to draw attention. I took a shallow breath, afraid to be heard.
Afraid I’d be killed.
I glanced through my fuchsia blinds, expecting to see someone standing outside my window. No man with a gun or knife waited to murder me. I turned my head slowly toward the door. No one was there, but I felt a presence. Felt the gaze of a hate filled person boring into me, but where? Where was this person? Fear pricked up my arms, pins and needles poked at my chest. My head spun. I needed to breathe. I needed to get to my mom.
If I slinked out of bed, the intruder would think I was asleep. He wouldn’t charge me if I was asleep, would he? I inched to the left, waited, breathed, then inched more. I was still alive. Still breathing. No one had killed me.
Not yet.
Hanging over the edge of the bed, I kept my flowery blanket up to my chin. Whoever was with me wouldn’t realize I was trying to escape, wouldn’t realize I knew he was there.
I fell to the floor with a thud.
My heart stopped.
Deep breath.
Muscles tensed.
Run.
I jumped up and ran through the door so fast there’s no way anyone could have caught me. Barreling toward my mom’s room, I screamed, “Someone’s in the house.”
Mom and Kris were both asleep, and neither came to my aid. I hurtled myself in bed with my mom.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, bolting up.
“There’s someone in the house, in my room. Someone was watching me . . . .”
Mom threw the covers off. “I’ll go check it out.”
I grabbed her arm. “You can’t. No! What if he kills you? Please, don’t leave me.”
She looked down at me with those oh-you-silly-child eyes, removed my hand, and left the room.
Sweat ran down my cheek. My feet were freezing. My mind raced through possible scenarios for my mother’s horrible death, but it didn’t come.
She opened her bedroom door and smiled. “Nothing there. You can go back to sleep.”
“Can I stay with you?”
“Of course.”
***
Mom sat me down on the dingy couch covered in an equally dingy mustard yellow blanket—to make it look nicer—and placed her hand over mine. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Anytime Mom took on a serious tone, and sat me down, I knew I’d either done something wrong, or someone had died. “W-What?”
“I didn’t want to tell you this. I figured it would scare you—that’s why I’ve waited so long—but I think you need to know.” She rambled on and on as if actually talking about whatever it was she needed to say scared her.
I raised my eyebrow. “Mom?”
“You remember that night a long time ago when you thought someone was in your room?”
“How could I forget?”
“Well, the next day I talked to your father. Remember he was working in the prison at the time? He used to sleep there. He was there that night.”
“I remember.” I hated my dad being so far away from us. We missed him.
“At the same time you woke up afraid someone was in your room, he woke up too. But someone was in his room. He was robbed.” Mom squeezed my hand.
“So, what are you trying to say?” Was I connected to my father? Did I somehow sense his fear a hundred miles away? What was it that woke me up? I’d reduced it down to a bad dream, but what did it mean for me to experience the same emotions as my father when something bad was actually happening to him?
“I don’t know. I just thought you should know.” She returned to facing the tv.
And I’ve been wondering about that night ever since.
Afraid I’d be killed.
I glanced through my fuchsia blinds, expecting to see someone standing outside my window. No man with a gun or knife waited to murder me. I turned my head slowly toward the door. No one was there, but I felt a presence. Felt the gaze of a hate filled person boring into me, but where? Where was this person? Fear pricked up my arms, pins and needles poked at my chest. My head spun. I needed to breathe. I needed to get to my mom.
If I slinked out of bed, the intruder would think I was asleep. He wouldn’t charge me if I was asleep, would he? I inched to the left, waited, breathed, then inched more. I was still alive. Still breathing. No one had killed me.
Not yet.
Hanging over the edge of the bed, I kept my flowery blanket up to my chin. Whoever was with me wouldn’t realize I was trying to escape, wouldn’t realize I knew he was there.
I fell to the floor with a thud.
My heart stopped.
Deep breath.
Muscles tensed.
Run.
I jumped up and ran through the door so fast there’s no way anyone could have caught me. Barreling toward my mom’s room, I screamed, “Someone’s in the house.”
Mom and Kris were both asleep, and neither came to my aid. I hurtled myself in bed with my mom.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, bolting up.
“There’s someone in the house, in my room. Someone was watching me . . . .”
Mom threw the covers off. “I’ll go check it out.”
I grabbed her arm. “You can’t. No! What if he kills you? Please, don’t leave me.”
She looked down at me with those oh-you-silly-child eyes, removed my hand, and left the room.
Sweat ran down my cheek. My feet were freezing. My mind raced through possible scenarios for my mother’s horrible death, but it didn’t come.
She opened her bedroom door and smiled. “Nothing there. You can go back to sleep.”
“Can I stay with you?”
“Of course.”
***
Mom sat me down on the dingy couch covered in an equally dingy mustard yellow blanket—to make it look nicer—and placed her hand over mine. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Anytime Mom took on a serious tone, and sat me down, I knew I’d either done something wrong, or someone had died. “W-What?”
“I didn’t want to tell you this. I figured it would scare you—that’s why I’ve waited so long—but I think you need to know.” She rambled on and on as if actually talking about whatever it was she needed to say scared her.
I raised my eyebrow. “Mom?”
“You remember that night a long time ago when you thought someone was in your room?”
“How could I forget?”
“Well, the next day I talked to your father. Remember he was working in the prison at the time? He used to sleep there. He was there that night.”
“I remember.” I hated my dad being so far away from us. We missed him.
“At the same time you woke up afraid someone was in your room, he woke up too. But someone was in his room. He was robbed.” Mom squeezed my hand.
“So, what are you trying to say?” Was I connected to my father? Did I somehow sense his fear a hundred miles away? What was it that woke me up? I’d reduced it down to a bad dream, but what did it mean for me to experience the same emotions as my father when something bad was actually happening to him?
“I don’t know. I just thought you should know.” She returned to facing the tv.
And I’ve been wondering about that night ever since.
That's really interesting. It would make a cool beginning to a murder/revenge-for-past-wrong story, too.
ReplyDeleteIt was really weird. Coincidence? Maybe. But weird.
ReplyDeleteI could write a revenge-ish story, but I'll stick to fantasy. ;-)
Very good story:) These are the ties that bind :) Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteYou are so talented!!!! Love reading your stories!
ReplyDeleteThank YOU, Tania. :-)
ReplyDeleteKaren, I'm so glad you visited me over here. I wasn't sure if many of the JB Moms read my stories. And thank you so much for the compliment...I'm tickled. Comments like that make writing worth it!
Love it! ;)
ReplyDeleteOn page one, I see an elf at her mother's deathbed.
ReplyDeleteMomma Elf drew a shaky breath. "Hey, remember that time you felt like someone was in your bower? Well, your dad was being murdered by dark sorcerer, a thousand leagues away, at the very same time."
"Drat," the elf lass said. "I guess I better do something about that."
Thank you JKP. No first today?
ReplyDeleteOkay, RWWGreene (hehe), I think maybe you should write that story. You've got the vision. ;-)
COOL! Just ... COOL!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sarah! I was really amazed when my mom told me that. :-)
ReplyDeleteNice level of creepy, for a person who doesn't like horror. :D
ReplyDeleteJust you wait, Justin. You should read my novel. Some lines will make you go...eeekkk!
ReplyDeleteGood story, Krystal. I enjoyed it, as I always do your work.
ReplyDeleteCool. Love stuff that causes wondering. Well written. :)
ReplyDeleteWow! Amazing! The story itself is interesting and curious but the way you put it into words was brilliant - you had me hooked. :) Awesome job!
ReplyDeleteThank you, David. :-)
ReplyDeleteGlad you liked it, Kellianne! :-)
Love that you were hooked, Connie. :-)
Very eerie. Makes me really want to read the book!
ReplyDeleteGreat job, as always :)
I am 100% convinced that we all have schizophrenic tendencies. There has been so many times when I turn off that last light then turn to walk to my room that I feel a frighteningly strong sense that someone is behind me only to turn and have no one be there yet the sense does not diminish, instead the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I rush to my room in some type of strange back pedal that may resemble a drunken stupor. And then for you to find that yours was connected to your father.
ReplyDeleteI have read about something call a string theory where we are all so connected that things like this happen. It’s why twins are so in tune to each other when one gets hurt the other feels the pain even if they are hundreds of miles apart.
No need to convince me that it’s not a coincidence.
Great post Krystal!
Mel
Ooooh...Spooky. This would make a good short story...I like it. :0)
ReplyDeleteYou know, a couple people have suggested I write a book about this, but the more I write about my childhood, the more I realize I've already incorporated all this stuff into my books. ;-)
ReplyDeleteI REALLY ENJOYED THIS BOOK AND IT PUT THINGS IN PERSPECTIVE FOR ME, IN SOME WAYS. PARENTS DO THINGS FOR THIER KIDS, BUT THIERS ALWAYS A TIME FOR EVERYONE TO MOVE ON. I THINK THAT SOMETIMES WE ALL WANT TO HANG ON TO THE PAST. I JUST REALLY ENJOYED THIS BOOK. I'TS A WINNER FOR ALL.
ReplyDelete