Babysitting Nightmare

• Areeba Khan, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2014

My heart started pounding my chest. The landline rung once, twice. Should I pick it up? What if it was the same creep who had called me twice before; if I didn't pick up, the caller could be Mrs Neville.
A few days ago, Mrs Neville had asked me to babysit her children while she went to a business supper. At the time I was thrilled, babysitting an influential businesswoman’s children could be the big break I had been waiting for.
Upon arriving at Mrs Neville’s house, I was awestruck. The place was like a mansion! Her house was made with pure white cement and had pillars welcoming me inside.
I walked up to the doorstep in a daze; this could not be happening. “Hey Porsche, glad you could make it,” she smiled. Mrs Neville looked younger than I had imagined her. Her dark red hair hung in locks up to her shoulders and she wore a black satin dress, for the important business supper she was attending. “There’s food in the fridge and the kids are asleep upstairs. I just want you to watch the kids while I’m gone, make sure they don’t get hurt,” she warned.
At the time I didn't pay any attention as to what she was saying; I was too excited to watch the massive plasma TV she kept in her lounge. “Don’t worry Mrs Neville, I’ll make sure the kids are safe and asleep” I smiled. “Thanks, and remember whatever happens, it’s just a joke,” she winked. I waved as I watched her leave the house. Then the phone calls began.
“I can see you,” a raspy voice snickered. It sounded like a male. “Open the door for me, I am waiting,” he jeered in the second call. Now it was the third time. Cold sweat trickled down my back, my hands started shaking as I lifted the receiver. “Boo!” it shrieked.
I slammed it down, cutting out the horrid laughs from the other end. I didn't know whether the kids were safe or not, I just wanted to get out of here! I seized my mobile and dialled triple zero. “What is your problem?” a lady asked. “There’s someone in the house with me, they keep calling me. Two children are upstairs sleeping, but I can’t go to them. The man will kill me,” I sobbed. “Calm down! Where are you? Stay exactly where you are and don’t move.” “I’m in Mrs Neville’s house, downstairs.”
The lady on the other line comforted me while the police arrived. I heard a crash as glass was smashed upstairs; shrieks followed after. A man in dark clothing broke his way into the lounge, which I had locked, grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the cool night air.
Neighbours and sirens surrounded the house, but I ran straight for one lady, my Mum. I hugged and cried into her as I saw Mrs Neville and her two children being dragged out into a waiting police van.