She held her breath, willing herself to stay hidden, to not be seen. The door to the water heater room creaked open and the lightbulb blinked on. She could see their shadows on the opposite wall. A grumble; then the light flickered back off, the door closed, and footsteps faded.

She let her breath out and slouched against the concrete wall. Wedged in the tight space between that wall and the drywall in front of it, she was just out of view on the other side of the heater. Her parents might think she wasn’t good at anything as a teen, but she did have at least one skill – She could hide.

Her parents. Were they still home? Were they alive? A gunshot exploded in another part of the house. Her stomach turned.

***

Her joints ached. It had to have been hours since she heard the gunshot, and she was still crammed in the wall, hiding, trembling. There had been footsteps and shouting, but then silence. Maybe she could creep out, stay out of sight, see if it was safe enough to flee.

She inched her way out from between the walls and around the water heater, cringing at any tiny little noise she happened to make. Her heart pounded in her ears, her hands were clammy, and a little bead of sweat ran down her spine. She reached for the door handle in the dark, her hand shaking.

Knowing just how to pull on the door to keep it from creaking, she eased it open a crack, listening. She held her breath. The only noise she could hear was the box fan in her parents bedroom. She slipped out, pulling the door noiselessly behind her, and turned the corner. Right in front of her was one of the intruders.

***

Her heart in her throat, she silently screamed, frozen against the wall. But the intruder in front of her didn’t react. He appeared limp. A rope dangled him in place, tied to the ceiling fan above. The intruders killed one of their own? Her heart remained in her throat as she skirted the body and noiselessly ran to her parents’ room.

Tripping through the doorway, she almost retched at the sight of blood trailing across the floor. Barely able to keep in a whimper, she scooted around the foot of the bed. Her mother lay sprawled on the floor, face down. She dropped to her knees, rolled her mother over onto her lap, and leaned down to embrace her. A sob escaped her lips.

She stiffened and looked up, expecting men to burst through the door, alerted by the noise she had made. Instead, silence. But there was a phone just under the edge of the bed. She grabbed it, hands shaking, and dialed 9-1-1. Right when the operator answered, her mother started with a sharp gasp. “Your dad. They took him.”

***

She stared toward the bedroom door as her mom continued the conversation with the dispatcher. None of the blood was her mom’s and they had been able to get her to sit up against the side of the bed. That trail of blood out the bedroom door, maybe it was her dad’s. Her mom squeezed her hand.

She returned the squeeze. “I’ll be right back.” As she slunk toward the door, her mom’s voice broke. “No! Come back!” She peeked into the hall. Drops of blood showed here and there, leading to the garage. Following them, she slowed as she came to the garage door. It was cracked and she could hear voices.

Someone shouted a string of profanities. She froze, trembling. Then she heard her father’s voice, weak. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.” Leaning to the side, she tried to get a glimpse of what was happening. A man’s face full of rage was fixated toward the back of the garage. She gasped. He had been in their house before, for dinner.

***

“Police!” The shout came from the front of the house. Instinctively, she backed against the wall. She could hear footsteps running across the garage floor and the door at the back swing open. There was shouting and a scuffle outside.

She leaned forward to once again peek through the cracked door into the garage. The man she had seen earlier cussed under his breath, jammed his gun into his belt, and disappeared from view. She could hear thumping just on the other side of the wall, right where the ladder was that led up to an unfinished loft.

Pressing her face up against the crack in the door, she stared at her father. He was tied to a metal folding chair, slumped with his chin resting on his chest, the side of his shirt drenched in blood. Why? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an officer cautiously enter the back door of the garage. She slowly pushed the door to the house open, catching the officer’s eye, and pointed up the ladder leading to the unfinished loft.

Minutes later, she stood at the back of an ambulance while her mother and father were being attended, and the intruders were being placed into the backs of police cars. The officer that had entered the garage stopped by. “Thanks for being brave. With your help, your parents are alive and we all made it out safely.”

***

This post was inspired by the hope*writers writing prompts for August 2022.

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