He’s Here

• Zooey Bartlett-trewin, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

I could hear her. The pounding. The screaming. That’s what woke me. All I could do was listen. Out of sheer fright, I was incapacitated.

I lived alone in a small house, on the outskirts of London. The rent was cheap, so I put up with the eeriness of the building. The cracked wallpaper, the unkempt outdoor walls and garden, ramshackle floorboards, grimy bathroom. The stereotypical dishevelled household. I had tried to clean it, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it. Maybe my house just looked like an easy target for a criminal?

I settled on at least looking out the kitchen window, I could probably get a view of whoever was out in the garden from there. I crept out of my bedroom, careful not to make a racket. I made my way into the kitchen and cautiously rose to the window. The banjging was beggining to grow louder. I could make out what the screams were saying now. “I swear, if you don’t open this door right now, I’ll get you. I’LL KILL YOU!” I could see them now, clearly. It was a woman, obviously insane. She was wearing tattered clothing, splotches of blood on her blouse and body, especially her face. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was beyond petrified. “H-hello,” I called, my voice shaky, uncertain “Do you need help?”

“Are you daft?” she shrieked. “LET ME IN!” I was shaking, yet also frozen out of fear. My mind was racing through all the safety lectures my parents had given me. None of them correctly fitted this situation. “Do you need me to call nine nine nine?” I asked. It was the only response I could think of. She paused for a moment. I felt the suspense building. It seemed like a horror movie. One that I was starring in. Just like the actors, completely blinded by the situation at hand, blinded from seeing the consequences of my actions.

She started to quietly cry - whimpering almost. Does this woman really need help? I wondered. Her blubbering became louder and more extended. “Please,” she begged between sobs. “Just get me help. Any help at all. Call triple nine if you have to. Just please, help me!”

My belief in her innocence was progressing, yet I still didn’t feel comfortable with a stranger in my home. I decided I would call the emergency services, just to confirm she would be ok. I told her what I was going to do and then I left to get my phone. I returned and I saw her trying to pick the lock. “What are you doing?” I raged. “What on earth do you think you are doing?” I could see from the expression on her face that she was clearly uncomfortable being in such a position, but she also looked extremely worried. “I can explain,” she said in desperation on, “just please let me in!” I was beginning to worry again. “Please! He’s here…”