Hooded Man

“Mom!” I wailed, “Stop it! I’ll be fine!” I dug my heels into the carpet and slumped against the kitchen entrance frame impatiently watching her flutter around our apartment snapping the cords attached to the shutters closed with my arms crossed tightly. I flinched when she yanked so hard it nearly broke the cord. Why won’t she just leave?

 “Are all of the doors locked?” my mom asked rhetorically, a loose strand of dark wavy hair fell into her face. She reached over the couch to yank one of the  shutters closed. I clasped her wrist firmly and brushed the lock of hair out of her eyes. She finally looked up at me. “Mom the doors are locked, the house looks fine, and I’ve done all my chores.” I smiled reassuringly. 

Her face softened. “It’s your first time home alone Catherine and I just want you to be safe.” I released her arm. She was going on another fancy date with Charles. Every time they went out I sat in a booth away from Mom and her boyfriend, Charles during their date nights since she was never comfortable with leaving me home alone in the apartment late at night by myself, but finally Charles and I convinced her that since I was almost fifteen, and always responsible at school and made smart choices she had no reason to be worried. I smiled wider and turned around to wrap her in a quick hug. Since she didn’t react right away I quickly handed her her purse and ushered her toward the door.

 “I know mom there’s nothing to worry about! Besides you look beautiful! Now go enjoy yourself!” She gave me a weak smile and walked out the front door toward Charles’s car already parked beside the curb. I didn’t have to squint through the tinted glass to see his excited face and the bouquet of roses waiting for her on the passenger's seat. I smiled to myself and shut the door firmly behind me. A picture of my father fell off the mantel. I picked it up and brushed off the film of dust, peering at his once handsome face. I shook my head and set it against the mantle, not bothering to take a second look at it. He used to stay out late to drink and gamble, then in the next morning he’d come staggering home slurring another lame excuse. Years later mom finally got to the breaking point so the two of us (mom and I)  moved out of our house, rented an apartment, and got a blue fish that I named Steve. Steve is pretty cool.  

I locked the front door and skipped down the hallway with my phone in my hand, flopped on my bed, pushed my homework onto the floor, and began scrolling through my instagram feed. Ten minutes later and  close after dark there was a sharp knock on the front door. I jumped up startled by the noise then realized mom must’ve forgotten something. “Mom, what did you forget this time.” I grumbled to myself, shaking my head and reached for the door knob. 

“Open up!”a man’s voice boomed. I jumped back and my heart lurched into my ears. “ Santiago I know you're in there!” the gruff voice repeated again. “Coward! You always knew when to run away!” My stomach flipped as I reached for my phone, ready to dial 911. The door knob shook wildly, and my hands trembled as I pounded in the numbers.

 “911, what is your emergency?”

 All of a sudden the shaking stopped. “Hello? Hello?” the receiver called into the phone. I fumbled and steadied the phone against my ear with both hands. Beep. My phone died. I listened in silence for a long minute clutching my phone to my chest. Click. The door slowly swung open and a dark figure stepped through the doorway. 

I fled down the hallway in utter terror. The pounding footsteps followed close behind me. I slammed my bedroom door shut. “Help! Help me!” I cried out. My phone clattered to the floor. I barackated myself against the door, clutching the metal door knob for stability. The door shook rapidly. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “What do you want from me?!” I cried out. The door flew open and I was launched to the other side of the room, cracking my head against the corner of my bed frame. Still sprawled on the hardwood floor, my hand flew to the back of my head. Horrified, I watched the warm blood drip down my hand, and splatter, onto the hardwood floor. Before I could further react his heavy boots retreated down the hallway in a rush. I crawled backwards on my hands and knees to the farthest corner of my bed room, pressed my back firmly into the wall and tucked my knees to my chin rocking back and forth my eyes wide staring into abyss. For several minutes my whole body shook with such force my teeth and hand chattered. My blood flowed through me ice cold barricading any energy that could be used to cry or shout. In our tiny apartment the sound glass breaking and the clatter of drawers being yanked open could be heard echoing not so far away. When it was clear whatever this man was looking for wasn’t here he rushed back into the room his coat swaying behind him. I began wailing again tears spilling over my cheeks.

  “Please! Spare me! I’ll do anything!” 

“Shut up! Shut up!” He whisper- yelled, backhanding me hard across the face. A wet sob escaped my lips and I flinched waiting for him to strike me again. When he didn’t I tucked my head in between my knees and squeezed my eyes shut with grit teeth. Dark locks of hair cloaked my face like a dark funeral veil. I whimpered. My funeral. And with that thought I pushed my spine back into the wall wanting to melt into the dried paint and disappear forever.  Another wave of hiccups emerged so suddenly my whole body shook. He kneeled down and held a gloved finger to his lips. “Shhh.” My chin quivered. I couldn’t bring myself to look up at the man standing in front of me. He reached out and cupped my chin in his gloved hand. He turned my head, examining the birthmark on the right side of my cheek. His dirty fingernails brushed against my throat and I could smell the faint scent of coach cologne and whisky. With the other musty hand he brushed aside his coat to reveal a .22 pistol lounging in his coat pocket. “Where is Santiago.” He asked coldly, “I don’t know!” I balled. He smirked, and unearthed a black pocket knife. “Do you still not remember now?” he asked again. 

“I don’t know!” I replied turning my gaze to him. His dark eyes flashed, and he gripped my neck tighter. I grabbed at his fingers, desperately trying to pry them from my neck. He snapped his pocket knife open and leaned in toward me then broke my gaze and paused eyeing a stick figure doodle I’d drawn when I was little of my mom and I. I looked at the picture to then back at him searching his face with pleading eyes. Sirens wailed in the distance. For a split second he turned his head toward the window, and his grip loosened. I kicked him hard in the gut, and bolted. I didn’t look back. I stumbled down the dark hallway, threw open the door and ran out onto the street and didn’t stop running until my sides burned and my head throbbed. I collapsed beside a crumbling wall on Oak Street. I must’ve looked like a character out of a horror story . I felt like a character in a horror story. I stifled my cries, afraid he’d hear me. The police found me in the morning. I passed out. The police didn’t find the man. He escaped.