Merry Christmas

The door was open. I crept inside and walked towards the desk. I reached out and sighed with relief. My hot chocolate was still warm. I switched off the light and started walking towards the living room. I stopped. It sounded like someone was opening a drawer in the kitchen, but the problem was that I was home alone.

I had lived in this old house for practically my whole life. 17 years. My mother and father both had day jobs, working for 6 hours and leaving me home alone. After coming back from school on the bus, I had 3 hours to myself. Spending that much time in an old, creaky house, you would know some things. What sound does this door make or that cabinet? So I knew exactly which drawer was creakily opened. The one with the knives in it.

The whole house was dark except for the Christmas tree. It definitely looked like nobody was home. But if the perpetrator thought that nobody was home then why did he need a knife? Why not a gun? But I did know one thing: I had the element of surprise.

I quietly set down my mug and carefully walked towards my parent’s room. I knew which floorboards creaked and so I had stealth on my side. Fortunately, the perpetrator didn’t and I could tell he was already in the living room. He or an overweight woman. The floorboards don’t lie. There was a safe in my parent’s closet. They didn’t know that I knew the code for it. I mean it didn’t take too long to crack since it was the date my parents got married. How romantic.

I heard a click and opened the door of the safe. There it was, shining bright even in the dark. A semi-automatic Glock pistol. I smiled. The floorboards creaked behind me.

“Thought you would never come,” I said, turning around. My perpetrator was dressed in all black with his hood pulled down and shadows covering his face. The moonlight cast a pale light on the 6 in knife, making it eerily glow. I hid the gun behind my back.

“What do you want,” I asked, “I swear I don’t have anymore cookies left. Santa must have eaten them all.” I was trying to waste time. What this man didn’t know is that the moment he entered, a silent alarm went off, warning the nearby police station of an intruder. This might be an old, creaky house, but its security is the state of the art. It has to be with my parents line of work.

The man looked surprised, as if he didn’t expect to see me here.

“Move away from the safe and I won’t kill you,” he said, gesturing with the knife.

“I’m going to need you to put your hands up” I said, pulling the gun out from behind my back. The man’s eyes widened in shock and he stumbled back.

“On the ground now! Get your ass in the ground now or I’ll put a bullet in you!” I was hoping that he would listen and do exactly what I told him to do. The man froze. I could see him processing my words and deciding on what to do. He studied me a bit and then came onto a decision. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one. He lunged at me, swinging the glinting knife in an arc. In that moment I knew two things. One, the gun has no ammo (I might have accidentally emptied it on a trip to the woods.) Two, this man wanted to kill me. I dived to the side, narrowly avoiding the knife’s brutal edge. He quickly recovered and lunged again, this time bringing the knife straight down, as if to stab me. I brought up my gun and pulled the trigger. It worked! No bullet came out but the man still flinched. Using the precious seconds I had, I got up and ran across the room. I grabbed my mug, hoping that it was still hot, and flung it at him. The coffee mug hit right on target and broke on impact. There was now a bloody gash on his forehead. I continued running down the hallway. I could begin to hear the sirens and see flashing lights, signaling that the police were near. Almost there. The front door came into my view. I reached out for the door handle and stopped. Something didn’t feel right. The world rolled over and suddenly the door was sideways. I could feel my shirt getting wet. Maybe I slipped? I reached behind me and felt it. The knife. My fingers came back red. With my blood. The police were now right outside. Doors slamming and radios gawking. The man walked up to me and smiled. He was holding a Manila envelope.

“Sweet dreams,” he said.

Colors were now swirling in my vision, and the door was becoming more blurrier by the second. I could feel a heaviness trying to envelope my body, trying to close my eyelids and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. I felt a tear running down my face. Sorry mom. Sorry dad. I felt cool air. Someone was shouting. I closed my eyes and sighed.