Written for a college creative writing class.
Southern Intruder
The first call had come at 6 p.m., my time. She was worried. A man had called, asked if her roommate was there, she said no, and hung up. Moments later a man called, said he was with the cable company, their payment was late, and he’d swing by and pick it up from her. He had sounded strange, unsure of himself. Then the phone rang again, which forced me to where I am now: pacing the hall praying out loud for her safety.
I was in the bathroom when my name became a bone-chilling scream from another part of the house. I scrambled and fumbled, believing that one of my children was choking or bleeding. I didn’t even notice when I banged my arm on the doorjamb on my way out. I saw the kids in the living room, one watching TV and the other sleeping. They were fine, but I kept running. My mother? Had she fallen or was she ill? Rounding the door to her apartment I saw her on the couch. She was white, clutching the phone and shaking. “Oh, my God, oh my God…” She kept repeating it like a chant.
“Mom, what is it?”
She didn’t look up but frantically said, “There’s someone breaking into Monique’s house.” My blood went cold and hair on the back of my neck stood up. I was helpless. She’s in Georgia, what can I do? Pray was the only answer in my mind. So I began to pray for her safety as my mother kept talking. “She called to tell me what her roommate said about the cable bill and suddenly told me that someone in red just ran past her bedroom door in the hallway, like they were going upstairs. I told her to hide somewhere. I said that she needed to hang up and call the police. She begged me not to hang up. She sounded so scared. I had to hang up on her.” She was wringing her hands. “I need to call Pastor Steve.”
Moments eeked by and she hung up again. “He’s not answering. I can’t find anybody to pray.”
“Mom, call her back.” I said. She tried to call back but it just rang. Images of someone beating down the door that my sister was hiding behind invaded my brain. I could see him stabbing her. “Mom, call 911 – tell them what’s going on – maybe they can get someone to her. They are all connected.” She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Yes, my daughter’s in Atlanta, we were on the phone and she said that someone was breaking into her house. I tried to call her back, but no one is answering…just dial tone…Georgia, Norcross, Georgia…I don’t know…5106 Rockbridge Trail…yes ma’am…ours is 785-555-2513…thank you…yes, thank you very much.”
“What? Are they sending someone over?”
“Yeah, they are going to try to get her on the phone and they are going to call the police in Atlanta.”
“Thank God.” The path from the chair in her room to the door at the end of the hallway was wearing thin. “Please God,” I prayed out loud “protect her. Don’t let anyone hurt her…Mom, give me the phone.” I grabbed the phone from my mom. I wanted to call her for myself. It just rang and rang; there was no answer and no busy signal. Those images of her being afraid and trying to fight off an attacker seized me again. My mother was still sitting on the couch chanting and crying. She was in shock, not knowing what more she could do. I wanted to run…run to Georgia and rip apart the person who was hurting my sister. I was angry, scared and helpless.
The phone rang in my hand and I jumped, hoping it was her saying it was all a false alarm. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is the Atlanta sheriff’s department. Did you have an emergency?”
“We were calling for my sister. She’s in Norcross and she said that someone’s breaking into her house.” Then I gave the man on the other end my sister’s phone number and address. I wanted to plead with him to get someone over there immediately. What was taking so long?
“Ma’am, we are sending someone over now. We have someone in the area.”
“Thank you, very much.” I hung up and tried to call her again.
“Hello?”
“Oh, God, Monique?”
“Yeah, the police are here I’ll call you back.”
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you back.” She hung up.
“Mom, I got Monique. She said the police are there and that she’s all right.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure that he’s not there making her say that? Maybe he has her and won’t let her talk.” Any relief that I had when I talked to her vanished as I took in what my mother had said. I called back.
“Monique, just answer yes or no,” I said when she answered, “is there someone holding you there making you say you’re ok?”
“No, I promise I’m okay. The police are here.”
“Are you sure?”
She laughed a little, “Yes, I’m sure.”
We hung up again. “Mom, she’s ok. The police are there and she sounded ok.”
We waited. Minutes stretched into eternity. I was glad she was ok, but I desperately wanted to know what was going on. Who had been there? Was it the one who had called her? Did they know she was alone? Ring.
I jumped and picked up the phone, glancing at the clock to see how much time had passed. Ten minutes were gone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hey, Mo. What’s going on?”
“Well, I got off the phone with mom and called the police. I could hear you guys trying to call, but I couldn’t click over to talk to you. Anyway, the lady stayed on the line with me and told me when the police were pulling up into the driveway. She said that they were there and were checking all of the windows and doors for signs of an intruder. Everything was locked and I had to leave the bathroom to unlock the front door for them. Once I unlocked it they burst in, it was like something out of a movie. They had their guns and bulletproof vests and everything. I took off for the bathroom again because they scared me so bad. I almost peed my pants. They told me to stay in there until they checked the house. When they came back to get me they told me that they checked the downstairs, upstairs and this whole floor and there was no way someone could have got in, everything was locked. They said that the TV was on downstairs and it was probably reflecting off of the wall. I know that what I saw was not a reflection. It ran past my room like it was going upstairs. They kept looking at my eyes like they were trying to see if I was high or drunk. I kept trying to look them in the eyes so they knew that I was ok.”
I laughed, glad that she was ok, but I was chilled. It was strange and the story caused goose bumps to rise on my arms.
I was in the bathroom when my name became a bone-chilling scream from another part of the house. I scrambled and fumbled, believing that one of my children was choking or bleeding. I didn’t even notice when I banged my arm on the doorjamb on my way out. I saw the kids in the living room, one watching TV and the other sleeping. They were fine, but I kept running. My mother? Had she fallen or was she ill? Rounding the door to her apartment I saw her on the couch. She was white, clutching the phone and shaking. “Oh, my God, oh my God…” She kept repeating it like a chant.
“Mom, what is it?”
She didn’t look up but frantically said, “There’s someone breaking into Monique’s house.” My blood went cold and hair on the back of my neck stood up. I was helpless. She’s in Georgia, what can I do? Pray was the only answer in my mind. So I began to pray for her safety as my mother kept talking. “She called to tell me what her roommate said about the cable bill and suddenly told me that someone in red just ran past her bedroom door in the hallway, like they were going upstairs. I told her to hide somewhere. I said that she needed to hang up and call the police. She begged me not to hang up. She sounded so scared. I had to hang up on her.” She was wringing her hands. “I need to call Pastor Steve.”
Moments eeked by and she hung up again. “He’s not answering. I can’t find anybody to pray.”
“Mom, call her back.” I said. She tried to call back but it just rang. Images of someone beating down the door that my sister was hiding behind invaded my brain. I could see him stabbing her. “Mom, call 911 – tell them what’s going on – maybe they can get someone to her. They are all connected.” She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Yes, my daughter’s in Atlanta, we were on the phone and she said that someone was breaking into her house. I tried to call her back, but no one is answering…just dial tone…Georgia, Norcross, Georgia…I don’t know…5106 Rockbridge Trail…yes ma’am…ours is 785-555-2513…thank you…yes, thank you very much.”
“What? Are they sending someone over?”
“Yeah, they are going to try to get her on the phone and they are going to call the police in Atlanta.”
“Thank God.” The path from the chair in her room to the door at the end of the hallway was wearing thin. “Please God,” I prayed out loud “protect her. Don’t let anyone hurt her…Mom, give me the phone.” I grabbed the phone from my mom. I wanted to call her for myself. It just rang and rang; there was no answer and no busy signal. Those images of her being afraid and trying to fight off an attacker seized me again. My mother was still sitting on the couch chanting and crying. She was in shock, not knowing what more she could do. I wanted to run…run to Georgia and rip apart the person who was hurting my sister. I was angry, scared and helpless.
The phone rang in my hand and I jumped, hoping it was her saying it was all a false alarm. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is the Atlanta sheriff’s department. Did you have an emergency?”
“We were calling for my sister. She’s in Norcross and she said that someone’s breaking into her house.” Then I gave the man on the other end my sister’s phone number and address. I wanted to plead with him to get someone over there immediately. What was taking so long?
“Ma’am, we are sending someone over now. We have someone in the area.”
“Thank you, very much.” I hung up and tried to call her again.
“Hello?”
“Oh, God, Monique?”
“Yeah, the police are here I’ll call you back.”
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you back.” She hung up.
“Mom, I got Monique. She said the police are there and that she’s all right.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure that he’s not there making her say that? Maybe he has her and won’t let her talk.” Any relief that I had when I talked to her vanished as I took in what my mother had said. I called back.
“Monique, just answer yes or no,” I said when she answered, “is there someone holding you there making you say you’re ok?”
“No, I promise I’m okay. The police are here.”
“Are you sure?”
She laughed a little, “Yes, I’m sure.”
We hung up again. “Mom, she’s ok. The police are there and she sounded ok.”
We waited. Minutes stretched into eternity. I was glad she was ok, but I desperately wanted to know what was going on. Who had been there? Was it the one who had called her? Did they know she was alone? Ring.
I jumped and picked up the phone, glancing at the clock to see how much time had passed. Ten minutes were gone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hey, Mo. What’s going on?”
“Well, I got off the phone with mom and called the police. I could hear you guys trying to call, but I couldn’t click over to talk to you. Anyway, the lady stayed on the line with me and told me when the police were pulling up into the driveway. She said that they were there and were checking all of the windows and doors for signs of an intruder. Everything was locked and I had to leave the bathroom to unlock the front door for them. Once I unlocked it they burst in, it was like something out of a movie. They had their guns and bulletproof vests and everything. I took off for the bathroom again because they scared me so bad. I almost peed my pants. They told me to stay in there until they checked the house. When they came back to get me they told me that they checked the downstairs, upstairs and this whole floor and there was no way someone could have got in, everything was locked. They said that the TV was on downstairs and it was probably reflecting off of the wall. I know that what I saw was not a reflection. It ran past my room like it was going upstairs. They kept looking at my eyes like they were trying to see if I was high or drunk. I kept trying to look them in the eyes so they knew that I was ok.”
I laughed, glad that she was ok, but I was chilled. It was strange and the story caused goose bumps to rise on my arms.
