by Mark Bearing

Created on: August 22, 2010   Last Updated: October 09, 2010

I always know when I'm there, aware because this just can't make sense. Walking home in the middle of that cool, clear skied night ,on that poorly lit suburban street, I already feel on edge. My parents are out of town. They're never out of town. I have no idea where I'm coming from and no idea where I've been. Was I taking a midnight stroll, or out to get the days mail? Was this some kind of preemptive walk of shame from a girlfriend's place? I have so many questions but right now it doesn't matter. It matters not because as I stop to look around I realize I am no longer alone. There is someone here, more than someone here, and I fear they're here for me.

I take off running though I know not how, the fear is crippling. I hear them chasing after but looking back I see nothing. Never have the 20 yards to my front door seemed so far away. Feeling as if I've run right onto the wrong direction of one of those airport walking escalators that move you down the concourse quickly, I'm making little progress. I can hear them gaining on me, their footsteps getting louder. I run for my life but I don't think that I am going to make it. Somehow I make it to the front porch. I slip inside the house, slam the door shut and lock it just as a hand hits the door.

There are no voices in this place yet somehow I can feel their rage. I can feel their frustration in missing their chances with me in the street. They may be upset over this first setback,  but they'll find a way in, they always find a way in. I lock the back door, the basement door, the garage door, the windows, the house is secure. I think I'm in the clear.

The moments that follow recur and transform as ever I find myself in this condition. In short the intruders have found their way into my home and the unknowing of their intentions has me frightened as much as if I knew them to be murderous. So here I am, sneaking, and hiding, running and evading. From room to room I go with never any progress being made. I wrestle one of the intruders and while I somehow manage to get away this time my attacks on this mysterious man in the had no worth whatsoever. My punches land with no feeling at all, no damage inflicted.

So I run, and as I run seemingly for hours on end, the fear builds, the adrenaline flows, and I can sense my impending doom. I feel that I am running out of gas, running out of fight. While I tire in this place, these monsters lose nothing. It makes no difference when I grab the knives from the kitchen or attempt to get the guns from my fathers locker because they get there first.

And so when all hope is lost and their presence is consuming upon me, I muster every ounce of fight I have left in me to toss and turn and scream and cry and tear about as destructively as I can imagine until I am back in  my bed. Safe again but just for now. On another night, maybe tomorrow night, I know with certainty that I'll be back. And they'll be back.

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