I lie there. Counting how many times the blades spin outside the black hole of the ceiling fan, one by one. The chains banging

onto the glass bowl covering the sun. Eyes almost shut, and mind almost completely blocked out of the evil world. Stroking my hand on

the cotton comforter. Smelling my cleansed hair, still soaked. Still being able to smell the citrusy shampoo. So close to having my eyes

roll to the back of my head and my drool spilling out onto my pillow… when I hear thunderous footsteps. I’m home alone… my fears

whispered. Or maybe I’m not. The footsteps grew closer to my closed door room.


I pounced to my feet, slowly and quietly breathing. I run into my closet which leads to the attic. I lock the door behind me and

quickly but quietly run up the attic stairs into the sinister territory. I crouched down onto my hands and feet and crawl to the edge of the

attic where there’s padding. I withdraw the padding from the floor. Just a smidge of it, just enough to see into the second story. I was

looking down into my mother’s bedroom. My parents had just separated. I see a man, just one. He has a ski mask on with black gloves.

Regular clothes on. My throat tightens and I get a knot in my stomach, feeling uneasy. My breathing became uncontrollably heavy and

fast. Bricks being slammed into my head making sure I see stars.



The man picks up a folder off of my mother’s dresser. When he opens it he rips out a piece of paper. It's so fast I can’t see what

the paper says. He the crumples the paper up and stuffs it into his pants. He has no bag, so I feel like it was an unexpected visit. I blink

my eye because it’s transforming into a dessert. He takes a key out of his jean pockets. He uses the key to open a drawer from my

mother’s dresser. I don’t know what my mother puts in that drawer. I just know it’s important. She acts like if anyone would ever find out

what’s in the drawer, World War III would commence. My breathing becoming bouncy and fast. He takes out an envelope and holds it up

to the light. He then slowly and smoothly brushes the envelope across his nose and chuckles. I wrinkle my eyebrows and squint my eyes.

Somewhere I’ve heard that chuckle. I try to think hard about where I’ve heard it before. I know this man. I don’t know how… but I know

him. He then puts the envelope in his pants along with the crumpled paper. He seemed to feel uncomfortable so he sticks his hands down

his pants to adjust it. I gag silently to myself. He lets out a long sigh; I know that sigh! In my mind I played a movie; a movie of fear and

destruction. I had watched the news earlier this week. They had played a recording of a voice. The voice was of a beast; a beast who went

around to homes and took their most important possessions. The worst part was however… if he ran into a person in the house, he

immediately shot them. I become even more shaky and uneasy. They had gotten the recording because he broke into the wrong house at

the wrong time. The home belonged to a CIA agent who’s house had been bugged by a mole in the agency. The CIA had found the

recording, and the body of the CIA agent only two hours after the agent’s passport was stolen by the same guy that was in my house.



This guy is sick. I squint my eyes and shake my head to myself. Just wait right here, Fiona. Don’t move or he’ll notice you! I

close my eyes tight hoping for the situation to change. I keep them closed, closed and closed for one, two, three seconds. I widen them,

trying to win a staring contest. Nothing changing. The man is still there. Still. Not moving. Tranquil. Silent. He then slowly turns his head.

Just his head, only his head. He moves it diagonally as if he is looking at the floor, though the eye holes of his mask show his eyes

looking forward. He turns his head almost one hundred-eighty degrees. My stomach knotted even more. It’s giving me a creepy feeling.

One that will most definitely keep me up at night. It’s a face that you would find in horror films. The face of a monster that’s about to slice

your throat and enjoy the sight of your muscles sliding out through the slit of your neck. Smiling, as he’s watching the red waterfall from

your neck forming an ocean. You falling down onto your knees, then onto your stomach and face. Him pulling the trigger against your

back to make sure you’re dead. That kind of feeling.



“Did you get it babe?” Who’s that? A hurricane blew instead of a tornado. Footsteps clomps over to him. Suddenly, I see another

figure. Long, brunette hair in a long ponytail dances as she walks toward the man. Her high healed stilettos stand less than two inches

away from her “babe”.



“We’ve succeeded.”



“Not yet. Let me see it.”



“Take it!” Seductively she reaches for the envelope and the crumpled piece of paper while taking off his mask to kiss him. She

took out the paper and then wrapped her arms around him. It seems to take about four hours for them to pull away. As they pull away I

see a glance of the woman’s face. Many freckles all over her face. Her teeth perfectly straight. She takes her hair tie and slowly pulls it out

of her hair. As her hair falls it bounces. She has the hair of a model in a TRESemme' commercial.



“Very good, babe! Let’s get out of here.”



“Hold on, one more thing needs to be done.” He takes a couple steps closer to the hole in the ceiling that my eye was peeking

through. I finally see his face. He looks up at me.



“Oh my gosh!” I scream.



“Heather? Come here. I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Fiona.” He takes out his artillery and points it to my eye. He takes

it off safety. “Goodbye.”



BAM.