For you guys to understand what happened, I think I may let you know I’m female and I’m eighteen. My name’s Rosie.
Me and my sister were home alone that night. My parents usually let her in my care but only daytime. At night we rarely were alone. See, I live in a small apartment (that only has two rooms, one living room and one kitchen) somewhere in the world amid all the small apartments that exists (I’m not sure if I should give you tips of where I live, so, l won’t; and to soften that I’ll just make funny smartass comments), and the street where it is located is empty all the time, except for one or two residents walking for their safe home.
During the day, we (my father, mother, sister and I) are not threatened by the thought of being robbed, being assaulted, raped or even being killed. But when the moon shows up we sometimes can’t sleep – some time ago, the rumors of some guy climbing windows and entering apartments scared the shit out of us, and it was still pretty much present in our minds.
So… you can imagine that me and my sister were a little bit concerned about that, but we just chose not to listen to that part of our heads and started doing other things – use the computer, watch some TV, dance (we love to dance by ourselves watching youtube tutorials) and play games. You know, the usual stuff.
About 9 pm she was at our room and I was in the living room, watching something on youtube and just navigating online. I must say English is not my native language, so I’m sorry if I make too much mistakes. My father introduced me to English when I was little and I was so passionate about it that I made my life mission to learn as much as possible and practice as much as I could. Anyway, English may not be my native language but I do love to write in both of them. That being put, I was reading about tips to write well or improve your writing when the intercom rang. At first, I wasn’t scared at all; indeed, I was really pissed of by the fact it was 9 pm and someone was calling us, probably by mistake or just a Jehovah’s witness. I answers “Yes?” and the person didn’t respond back.
“Hello? Is someone there?”, I insisted, the angry being replaced by a tiny feeling of terror. “I’m going to hang up”, I again said, and just when I was about to take the intercom away of my ear I heard a man’s voice saying “Don’t”. The male’s voice was so deep and intense it got me paralyzed. I just stood there for two seconds, appreciating his voice like it was something really beautiful – and somehow it was --, until I got the imaginary balls to say “Who is this?”. He answers me with a laugh and silence took place. While I got confused, I was imagining (don’t know why) his face with a sadistic smile on it. The image gave me shivers. Bad shivers. “I really need to know who is this, otherwise I’m gonna hang up”, I said, mentally wondering why I haven’t done it yet. “My name is not important, miss. What is precisely essential is you. You will open this door right now and I’m gonna go upstairs and we will chat”. More shivers.
“I won’t open anything for you. And you better get out of here, my parents are here and we will call the police if you continue to disturb us” My voice failed a bit and the man laughed again, probably thinking I was and idiot for saying that. I’m fucked, a thousand times fucked. I just signed my passport to hell, and my sister’s to heaven.
“Girl, you think I’m joking? I’m not, I can guarantee. Don’t fuck with me. Open the door” I decided I was talking with him for too long, and it was time to hang up. And I did it.
I live on the first floor. We can hear all that happens down the lobby and all that happens with our neighbors (all of them, from floor one to floor three), and this particular thought brought me peace.
I started hearing slight knocks that quickly turned into hard punches to the first glass door downstairs. I locked all the locks (redundant, I know, but I couldn’t find other words to describe it) my door had and picked up my dog, delivered it to my sister and told her to stay quiet and lock the door. “If you can” I added “Push this furniture to the door. Block the door with it” and she nodded, scared. “What’s happening?”, she asked me. “I don’t have the time to tell you now. Call our parents and stay here”. She did what I asked her to do and I went to the living room again, turning all the lights off and standing in front of the door, looking through peephole.
. I wasn’t seeing anything but I continued to hear the punches. At some point, the punched ceased and, again, silence took place. I continued quiet – I always had that response to fear. I stay quiet and don’t make a noise, thinking it may be my best chance to survive. Fortunately, my sister were doing the same thing.
I think five minutes passed until I heard a loud explosion. Okay, it was not an “explosion”, but it sound like one. It was a burst, certainly. I looked through the peephole again and saw the lights at the lobby switch on. “Fuck”, I thought with myself, “I should’ve blocked the main door with the couch. I am making mistakes that could be avoided”.
Two seconds after that I saw the man standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at my door, but it felt more like he was looking for me. He started climbing so slowly, as if he was acting in slow motion. The panic shows up and, before I even noticed, I run and start pushing the couch to the door. The distance wasn’t long. I climb the sofa and look again. He is smiling, looking at the door, now at the top of the stairs. I search for something sharp enough to injure me and my sister on his hands and I don’t find it.
The air stuck on my lungs finds their way out and my heart start pumping normal again. But he’s still there, looking at my soul with his dissimulate smile and his head turned to the side a little. It resembled me a dog when it finds something it can’t comprehend – a very nervous and creepy dog. I search my pocket for my phone and text my parents. “Please, come home. There’s a creepy guy in front of our door. I can’t get rid of him”.
”. I waited for the reply to arrive watching every move of the guy. He wasn’t moving, but I had to keep looking. I had to keep surveilling. Against my will, but certain we needed help, I decided to call my neighbor, two old ladies who lived next to me. They were adorable.
I went to the kitchen, grabbed the intercom and called them. They didn’t answer me. I was starting to be afraid again, but decided to keep the fear aside. I found again my way to the living room and looked again into the peephole. He wasn’t there anymore. The fear was resurging from my guts and it left a bitter taste in my tongue.
What would I do? What should I do? I was home, alone, with my young sister. It was my duty to protect her. I couldn’t let some stranger enter, I couldn’t be that afraid. If I let the fear take control of me, I would be paralyzed and, soon, dead. Lost in my own incompetence, I remember that was another door in my apartment, the kitchen’s door. I went there and looked.
. The guy was standing there, looking at the external kind of gate, looked by a padlock. I breathed, relieved, because there was a padlock there. The guy joined his fingers as in a punch and hit the padlock, breaking it.
After that, everything’s a blur. I only remember glances: me pushing the refrigerator to in front of the door, me screaming for help, me against the refrigerator, feeling him kicking the door. I don’t know how we got out of this situation, I really don’t. But we did it – my sister’s okay, our parents refuse themselves to let us alone, and I have to see my psych to get rid of those horrible moments.
Submitted August 01, 2016 at 01:29AM by obscurme http://ift.tt/2amYilF LetsNotMeet
No comments:
Post a Comment