A Close Call

• Finley Japp, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2015

I saw him first in the dim light of the bar - tall, slim, slightly hunched, with a stained coat and old hat – out of the corner of my eyes. I finished my whisky and strode outside, casually glancing behind. The man stood up, keeping to the shadows. Eyes on me. I hurried on, walking via the port rather than straight to the house. Still in the shadows. I lost him at the fish market and made my way home.
After work, I ate ravenously at my usual restaurant. Glancing to my left, I saw a somewhat familiar figure. Slightly hunched. Old hat. I walked nervously out the door, veering right and expecting to be followed.
Left, right, left, straight, and always aware of the man behind me. I wondered what he wanted, and fought an instinct to turn around and ask. Was he an assassin? I sped towards the fish markets, a place I had once called home. This time, I wasn’t so lucky as to weave my way out. Hurrying through a well-known street, I rushed into my building, locked the door, and peered out the window. The doorbell rang and a note slid through. On the page were three capitals, scrawled hurriedly, fear-inducing - ‘KKK’. I packed my bags and hurried to some old lodgings.
When I reached Bromley I looked around at the familiar houses. No one would find me here. No stained coats and no old hats. A gun bumping inside my jacket, I turned my collar up against the wind and walked until I reached No. 23, D’Arcy Place, the light still shining, indicating activity. I entered and immediately climbed the stairs to my private room. Inside it was well looked after, freshly dusted. I barred the windows and waited into the night, only moving to ring the servant’s bell for food. The Ku Klux Klan always came at night.
I knew why they wanted to kill me. I am an activist for American slaves and had had an article published exposing important Klan members. This was going to be dangerous.
Later, I realised how miraculous the event was, but at the time I was only trying to make it through. I could hear the creak of the floorboards as a figure crept toward my room. I hid behind the door, but it smashed open and bullets flew everywhere, some missing me by inches. I glanced at my body. Why wasn’t I dead? I looked up to see a terrified man eyeing the gun in complete awe. He had completely missed me, and had emptied the magazine. I grabbed the poker at the fireplace and struck him twice in the side. “And don’t come back!” I yelled as he scampered away.
I never saw the KKK again. They disbanded only days later, and I live a happy life.