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The knock on your front door sends a flutter of fearful shudders, like the wings of a moth caught by a light. A glance out the window reveals the darkness, humid and loaded with storms so demanding the stars can’t break through. Cicadas laugh in an incessant stream as 1am rolls past with a clap of thunder.
You stand hesitantly, another loud, violent bang overwhelming the soft sounds of an absentminded TV; channels and lights shutting off with a loud ping as rain engulfs all that’s left.
You’re plunged into darkness, left alone with the angry knocks smashing against the front door.
The house lets out a breath, creaking as it sinks into the absence of night. Fan’s whirl into slow submission on the ceiling, anxiety scratching between your shoulder blades as the room screams in silence.
No light enters but the pale moon, dusting the furniture and feathering through the fly screen, slanted dapples illuminating the impenetrable gloom. Your feet cling to the tiles lining the floor, hobbling over spilled popcorn in your haste. The cool surface provides minimal relief as you make your way cautiously across the room towards the kitchen, fingertips gliding over the dewy walls.
You don’t turn away from the door.
Another smash; another wave of panic throttling your heart.
With each step your body feels heavier, lungs drowning in the heat and fear. You snatch a knife with clumsy fingers. Clutching it close, it takes a moment to overcome the panic bubbling in your throat, tightness constricting across your chest.
And then the doorhandle begins to shake. Whoever it was, they were trying to get inside.
You’re gasping now, tears stinging and skin far too hot it was growing clammy. You grip the kitchen counter for support, legs threatening to give out. The need to protect yourself when living alone has seen your doors and windows locked, a sweet relief on the wave of terror lapping your toes and dipping your body in cold.
More bangs, angry yells resonating with the shaking windows.
With as much bravery as you can muster, you take your first step forward, mobile screen glowing softly from the couch. Help is only a phone call away.
Another step sees sweat beading uncomfortably across your lip, soaking your hairline. A rattling breath pushes you further, more vicious demands coming from the pounding on wood.
Then it’s worryingly quiet, no more banging – only the rain filling your ears. Reprieve swells in the silence, maybe it was all a sleep deprived stupor dream?
You take the final few steps with wobbly ease, cursing your mind for playing tricks on you, vowing to find sleep as soon as the power came back.
The back door’s flyscreen rips off with a sudden clatter.
You hit the ground, knees colliding with the tiles as you lunge towards your phone. It slides through slick fingers as your cheek burrows into the carpet, device skittering under the couch.
You want to kick and scream, wail for help and hope in vain; but survival forces your arm under the seat. Feeling around, you knock aside the litter, ignoring the touch of wings and dust mites.
Too far, it’s too far.
The sound of footsteps and muttering seeps from the hallway, getting closer and ringing in your ears.
You try harder, fingertips skidding against its surface; but it’s just out of reach.
Blinding light surges, disorientating as it fills the room, casting the corners in an eerie ethereal state. You rocket upwards, knife clenched in your fist as it comes down; until his voice breaks through the panic.
“Y/N?”
“Miles?”
Your boyfriend looks offended, eyebrows knitting together and lips pressed into a thin line, soaked from the storm and the effort of breaking into your home. “Were you going to fucking stab me?!”
You stare at him, knife still firmly directed at his chest, but stationary. With your heart hammering in your throat you force your fingers open, blade thudding into the cushions. “You aren’t supposed to be in the country.”
“... Oh yeah,” Miles rubs the back of his neck, face splitting into a cheeky grin in the glow of his phone screen. “Well surprise, I guess.”