I had always been a light sleeper. I heard everything that went on at night. Every time someone went to the bathroom or went to the kitchen for a midnight snack, I knew.
It didn't help that this house was always making noise. There was no such thing as a quiet floorboard, or none-rickety steps, or a door that didn't creek.
As a kid, I loved it because I felt like a spy. Now, living alone in the same old house, with squeaky floorboards, croaking steps, and creaky doors, it scared the living hell out of me.
Because now, I lived alone.
My first thought was maybe it was a dream. My imagination playing tricks on me in the late night. Then I distinctly heard the bottom step croak.
I had to force down the rising panic in my chest.
There was only one reason someone would come into my house. Murder.
It was obvious I didn't have anything worth stealing.
I quickly sat up in bed, using my covers as a shield. I listened harder.
My suspicions were confirmed as the person took another step.
I flipped over the side of my bed as quietly as possible. The sound of rustling bed sheets was deafening to me as I kicked them away revealing my favourite pyjamas.
I reached under my bed, pulling out my trusty pink bat from my softball days. After all, a girl needs some sort of protection.
There was no way I was going to let someone just break into my house.
This was my house. I was going to protect it all cost.
Slowly I staggered to my bedroom door, bat already in position. My bare arms holding the bat over my head just the way my coaches taught me. My head held high. Confidence radiated from me.
I wasn't just some helpless little girl. I was Nessa Fleming.
Whoever was out there, guarantee I had faced worse. One little murderer, was nothing.
I moved my hand to twist the doorknob for a sneak attack. Get them before they could get me.
Just as I was about to touch it, the knob started turning from the other side.
Now, I had full intentions of defending my house heroically. I really did.
But something about the idea of being brutally murdered changed all that as my heart jumped into my throat. My courage ran from me like a stray dog, as fear and desperation replaced it.
I might have faced worse, but I still didn't want to die. Not yet anyways.
I lurched away from the door. I swallowed my scream as I scrambled for my wardrobe. Before the intruder could even open my door I was already hiding in the piles of clothes inside my tall closet. My knees beside my head as I curled inside.
My terror rose with every step the intruder took. My heart pounded as my body shook with fear.
In my haste, I wasn't able to close the door completely. I peeked out the sliver between the two doors.
The streetlights from below lit up my dark bedroom. I watched from the safety of my closet as the intruder stepped into my line of sight.
From where I sat I could tell it was a guy. I couldn't make out his face, but he was tall with broad shoulders. He wore a dark suit with black gloves. He walked with power and purpose.
I tried not to whimper when I saw the solid grip he had on his gun. He was so familiar with it, it was an extension of his arm.
I think it was safe to say he was definitely here to murder me.
I didn't know if I should be proud or petrified that my suspicions were correct.
Both. Definitely both.
Swiftly he crouched down to look under my bed.
Jokes on him, I wasn't stupid enough to hide under my bed. I had seen enough horror movies to know that is always the first place a murderer looked.
I gulped. The second place was always the closet.
And the blond was always the first to die.
I had to stop myself from crying out loud.
But then I heard him hum. My panic turned to anger.
He stalked through my room as if he owned it. The thought had me gritting my teeth.
He had the audacity to hum. If he was going to murder me. He could have at least have given me the dignity of silence.
But noooo. There he was, humming a tune. It was even a song that I knew.
Bastard.
I shook my head. This was not the time to get distracted. I had to concentrate on being murdered.
Shaking my head was not the best move because the clothes behind me rattled against the wood.
The man's head snapped up. I could have sworn he looked directly into my eyes.
I froze as he started prowling closer to my hiding spot.
I clutched my bat tighter. It was now or never.
Was I the type of girl to let a murderer slice me open? Or was I the type of girl to slice a murderer open?
I decided at that moment, I would be the latter.
It sounded much more fun.
And if I couldn't slice him open, I wasn't going down without a fight.
My killer stood right in front of my wardrobe. I was sitting on the highest shelf inside, so the man and I were the same height.
Moving as little as possible, I raised the bat over my head.
I prayed to the gods that in this one moment, I didn't fall.
I waited for the exact moment he went to pull the door open.
With a loud battle cry, I shoved the door open with my full weight. Bringing the baseball bat down with the force of ten years of softball.
My prayers went unanswered. As I aimed for his head, gravity took me down with it. I leaned too far off the shelf, slipping out entirely.
As I fell I had the power to bring my bat down with me. Instead of hitting him on the head, it went straight across his shoulder. With a crunch, a sickening blow to his collarbone.
I could work with that.
My killer shouted in surprise as we both fell to the ground. Myself on top of my killer.
His gun flew out of his hands. I screeched loudly as I landed on him with all my weight. Our faces centimetres apart.
My killer wore sunglasses, but I could see the surprise. His brows were raised over the lenses. My face mirrored his while our mouths were in the shape of an o.
I couldn't help but scream as I stared at him. He was horrifying.
We both scrambled away from each other. Before I was even steady on my feet I was desperately swinging again with a scream.
The bat hit him in the abdomen so he was doubling over in pain.
I yanked my bat away. I twisted away from him, running to my bedroom door.
My eyes lit up with hope as I reached the archway.
All that hope disappeared as I lost my footing. All over again I came crashing to the floor. Nobody to blame but myself.
My pink fuzzy socks made it impossible for me to stand up again. On my hands and knees, I crawled as fast as I could.
Before I could pass the threshold I felt a hand snake around my ankle, pulling me back inside the bedroom.
I screamed bloody murder as I kicked furiously at my attacker.
He cursed behind me as I nailed him right in the face.
In his shock, he loosened his grip slightly. But it was just enough for my fuzzy pink sock to slip off my foot. His hand letting me go.
I left my sock behind. This was every woman for herself.
I heard fists pound on the wooden floorboards as he jumped up.
My eyes were wide as I finally passed the threshold. I pushed from my arms, my feet clawing at the ground to get a grip.
I was halfway standing before I felt a force tackled me back to the ground. My pink baseball bat flew down the stairs on impact.
I managed to turn around so I was facing him. He jumped on top of me, straddling my waist, trying to keep me down.
But no one could keep this girl down.
I slapped his face that was inches from mine. He tried to pin my flailing arms down. He fisted his hand over my left one, trapping it over top of my head. In fear and pure reflex, my other hand sailed into his nose.
He didn't even flinch.
I tried wiggling out of his grip, pushing him off me.
In the process, I lost my balance and my knee went right between his legs.
Two guys in one day. I was on a roll.
With a groan, he was forced to roll off of me. I tried helping him by giving him a big shove.
In my defence, I did underestimate how much room was between us and the stairs. Though I did not feel bad about it.
He sucked in a breath as he leaned over the top stair. With lightning-fast reflexes he grabbed me around the wrist, trying to steady himself.
I was the last person to steady someone.
He tried pulling himself towards me, but I just was pulled towards him. Sending up both tumbling down the steps.
We tumbled together down the wooden stairs. Our heads and bodies crashing into each other in sync. I made sure to scream and curse the whole way.
When we finally slammed against the bottom level, we were a jumble of arms and legs at the bottom of the croaking staircase.
It took me a moment to gather my bearings. I looked at my front door. That was where I had to go.
In the process, I saw my saving grace. My handy dandy pink baseball bat.
I grabbed it around the handle and sent it soaring to the man again. I didn't know where I was aiming, I just begged it found a target.
With a thump, it stopped mid-air.
The killer caught it. I couldn't help but laugh at my luck.
While I was laying on the ground, he had already jumped up and caught my bat in his palm.
In the fall his sunglasses managed to come off his head. Revealing dark grey eyes. Dark grey angry eyes.
"Hey." I started, shocked at the man in front of me. "You're the asshole from the bar."
I could have slapped myself. That is not what I should say to a guy that was trying to murder me.
He didn't answer me as he lunged for me. My baseball bat falling to the ground with a clump.
I shriek and squirmed away from his grasp. I tried to pull myself up using an old coffee table beside me.
I only managed to bring it down on top of me, creating a barricade between us.
The stranger couldn't get a hold of me past the coffee table.
I grabbed the picture frame that fell beside me. With all my might I threw it at his head.
Instead of hitting his temple perfectly and knocking him out, like I had hoped, he caught it. Right in his hands.
He caught my damn picture frame.
"What are you?" I screamed. "A ninja?"
While he was distracted by the picture, I jumped from the ground, running to the front door.
"Stop," he yelled, frustration lacing everything about him.
Like I would listen to my murderer.
I just managed to open the door a crack when he grabbed me and shoved my back into it. The door slammed shut again.
"Damn it." I groaned as my back ached, glaring at him. "That hurts."
"I'm not going too-"
There was no way I was going to listen to the bastard that was trying to kill me.
I used my dead weight to drop to the ground. The killer wasn't expecting it, letting me go.
I lifted my foot as I tried kicking out his legs. By pure chance, I kicked his foot from under him.
With no luck, he fell right on top of me. His nose banging against the wood door.
I couldn't help but make a burst of triumph.
"It's not funny," he growled, crouching in front of me and grabbing each of my wrists. "Relax-"
"Don't tell me to relax," I shouted at my killer, kicking at him violently.
The small self-defence I knew was to fight. Fight with everything I had to get away.
"I am not going to kill you." He shouted angrily.
I really didn't know why he was so angry, I was the one being murdered.
"Why would I believe you? You're trying to kill me right now." I shouted, my back against the wall and the man hovering above me.
He groaned loudly in exasperation and gripped my wrist, pulling me from the floor and holding my wrists above my head, my back against the wall, his legs trapping mine so I couldn't move.
He glowered down at me, his head inches away from my head. "I swear I am not going to kill you."
The shadows across his face, the anger in his eyes, I would have liked to take a picture of it.
Even more so I would have liked to take a picture of his face as I kicked him where the sun don't shine.
****
I love it because none of you know how truly dangerous Nessa Fleming is and I am living for it
I tried to write this scene in a humorous way, how did it turn out?
Graphics my CoffeeGirl_10