I have always been afraid of someone breaking in I have…
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I have always been afraid of someone breaking in
I have always been afraid of someone breaking in.
Even as a kid, living in the middle of nowhere on the family ranch, where our closest neighbor was miles away. Every creaking sound of the wood of our cabin flexing due to change in temperature, every clicking sound of our dogs in the living room, my mind would attribute to a stranger in our home. I would spend most nights wrapped in my blankets, frozen with fear that someone was prowling our home, and that they were coming for me.
Now, I live alone. I grew up, got a steady job, and managed to secure myself a comfortable home, free of difficult roommates and awful landlords. I live in a nice neighborhood, and everything here feels safe. My neighbors are friendly, the locals are kind, and there have never been any incidents in the area. Even still, I have always been afraid of someone breaking in.
Every night, I can swear I see figures outside. Every car passing by, I can only imagine the headlights as flashlights of some nefarious figure plotting their next move. Every wild animal rustling the bushes outside, I can only hear someone hiding in the bushes, peering in my window, watching me try and sleep so they can make their move. Deep down, I know it will never happen, but I can’t help myself. My windows stay locked from the inside, and I never leave the door unlocked.
Tuesday night, I first saw it. A car, a modest silver sedan, parked in front of my driveway for what felt like hours. It was probably only a few minutes. What were they doing? Why were they there? I jumped to the immediate, worst case scenario; They were plotting. I held my breath, ready to spring out of bed, to grab whatever I could to defend myself, but soon enough, they drove away. I tried to tell myself it was nothing, after all, it likely was. But my heart was racing anyways.
Wednesday night, I saw them again. The same sedan, lingering outside my house for longer. Surely I must have been imagining things, maybe it was a similar car. It’s hard to say, it was dark outside, and I’ve never been good at identifying different models of cars. But again, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, they drove off.
Thursday, I triple checked my locks. I couldn’t sleep, fearing that same car parking in front of my driveway again, fearing my worst fears were true. And, like clockwork, the car pulled up again. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I felt like my ribs would crack from the pressure, as I waited and watched. I never saw anyone leave the vehicle. But I heard the window break. The sound of shattering glass, to me, sounded like the sound of a guillotine dropping, the signing of my death warrant. For several, agonizing seconds, I was frozen in my bed, before springing off of the mattress, looking for anything to defend myself, eventually grabbing a lamp from my bedside table. It was a crude weapon, but something I could use to defend myself.
I listened at my bedroom door, hearing movement in my living room, the sounds of someone looking through my belongings, likely grabbing anything valuable they could find. I heard their footsteps disappear off towards the guest bedroom, and I couldn’t help myself. I cracked the bedroom door open, slipping out to look for the intruder, to try and strike first before they found me. It was eerily quiet.
I crept towards the guest bedroom, seeing the door ajar, a faint sliver of moonlight slipping through. It was dead silent. I held my breath, steeling my resolve, as I pushed the door open, raising the lamp to strike whoever was in my home.
But there was nobody. I felt a cool breeze blow past me, as the curtains near the window billowed slightly. Perplexed and afraid, I looked around, before my eyes settled on a faint silvery sheen on the floor. The faint moonlight was reflecting off of a pool of blood on the tile floor of the bedroom, and a smeared trail was visible, leading to the open window and across the windowsill.
I have always been afraid of someone breaking in.
Now I am afraid of what unlocked the window.
#entertainment
source
I have always been afraid of someone breaking in.
Even as a kid, living in the middle of nowhere on the family ranch, where our closest neighbor was miles away. Every creaking sound of the wood of our cabin flexing due to change in temperature, every clicking sound of our dogs in the living room, my mind would attribute to a stranger in our home. I would spend most nights wrapped in my blankets, frozen with fear that someone was prowling our home, and that they were coming for me.
Now, I live alone. I grew up, got a steady job, and managed to secure myself a comfortable home, free of difficult roommates and awful landlords. I live in a nice neighborhood, and everything here feels safe. My neighbors are friendly, the locals are kind, and there have never been any incidents in the area. Even still, I have always been afraid of someone breaking in.
Every night, I can swear I see figures outside. Every car passing by, I can only imagine the headlights as flashlights of some nefarious figure plotting their next move. Every wild animal rustling the bushes outside, I can only hear someone hiding in the bushes, peering in my window, watching me try and sleep so they can make their move. Deep down, I know it will never happen, but I can’t help myself. My windows stay locked from the inside, and I never leave the door unlocked.
Tuesday night, I first saw it. A car, a modest silver sedan, parked in front of my driveway for what felt like hours. It was probably only a few minutes. What were they doing? Why were they there? I jumped to the immediate, worst case scenario; They were plotting. I held my breath, ready to spring out of bed, to grab whatever I could to defend myself, but soon enough, they drove away. I tried to tell myself it was nothing, after all, it likely was. But my heart was racing anyways.
Wednesday night, I saw them again. The same sedan, lingering outside my house for longer. Surely I must have been imagining things, maybe it was a similar car. It’s hard to say, it was dark outside, and I’ve never been good at identifying different models of cars. But again, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, they drove off.
Thursday, I triple checked my locks. I couldn’t sleep, fearing that same car parking in front of my driveway again, fearing my worst fears were true. And, like clockwork, the car pulled up again. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I felt like my ribs would crack from the pressure, as I waited and watched. I never saw anyone leave the vehicle. But I heard the window break. The sound of shattering glass, to me, sounded like the sound of a guillotine dropping, the signing of my death warrant. For several, agonizing seconds, I was frozen in my bed, before springing off of the mattress, looking for anything to defend myself, eventually grabbing a lamp from my bedside table. It was a crude weapon, but something I could use to defend myself.
I listened at my bedroom door, hearing movement in my living room, the sounds of someone looking through my belongings, likely grabbing anything valuable they could find. I heard their footsteps disappear off towards the guest bedroom, and I couldn’t help myself. I cracked the bedroom door open, slipping out to look for the intruder, to try and strike first before they found me. It was eerily quiet.
I crept towards the guest bedroom, seeing the door ajar, a faint sliver of moonlight slipping through. It was dead silent. I held my breath, steeling my resolve, as I pushed the door open, raising the lamp to strike whoever was in my home.
But there was nobody. I felt a cool breeze blow past me, as the curtains near the window billowed slightly. Perplexed and afraid, I looked around, before my eyes settled on a faint silvery sheen on the floor. The faint moonlight was reflecting off of a pool of blood on the tile floor of the bedroom, and a smeared trail was visible, leading to the open window and across the windowsill.
I have always been afraid of someone breaking in.
Now I am afraid of what unlocked the window.
#entertainment
source
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