Coffee Helps

Creeeeeeeak.

I wake up and clutch the duvet in panic. Someone is in the house. The clock, glowing eerily in the dark, reads 3:07am. I suspect that’s what time it is. My heart thumping, I wait for the approaching footsteps of my killer.

Creeeeeeeak.

Oh, God, help, I plead silently. Silence. I tremble pathetically under the covers for a few moments, and finally summon up the courage to get out of bed. Gingerly setting my feet on the floor, I ease my body off the bed, inch by inch, in an effort not to make any creaking noises that might alert the psycho killer to my presence in the same way I have been alerted to his.

Creeeeeeeak.

He’s in the utility room. It seems like a strange place for a murderer with an axe and a revolver to go, but I can hear him there, all the same. Prowling amongst the boxes of Daz and the odd socks. Waiting.

I am practically hyperventilating. An interesting variety of thoughts are shooting through my head, all jumbled together and confused, forming a constant stream of useless information that goes something like this: I could spray him in the eyes with some deodorant – what if he kills Kat? – he’ll hear me if I phone the police – Dirk and Jay aren’t in next door tonight – I can text for help – if he kills me how long will it be before anyone finds me? -maybe he could sue me for spraying him in the eyes with deodorant –  would He Who Brings The Coffee be mad if I texted him at this time? – I definitely locked the doors, didn’t I? Did I? I did – I can’t call dad, he’s in no shape to rescue me from a murderer – I did lock them – is there anything embarrassing that they’ll find when they’re clearing out my house after my death? – maybe I could call the police in a whisper – It goes on like this, as I inexplicably grab a hairbrush and creep downstairs in the dark.

Creeeeeeeak.

With a wild howl, totally out of my mind with sheer dread and terror, I switch on the kitchen light and yell “What do you want?!” in a wobbly voice that doesn’t sound nearly as confident and intimidating as I was hoping it might. The cat blinks rapidly in the sudden light, arching her back against the door as she retreats into the utility room once more.

Creeeeeeeak.

STUPID SODDING CREATURE!!!! I yell furiously. She emerges inquiringly, fleeing with an indignant mew as I storm towards her in a mad rage. I slam the creaky door shut, mutter a few unpleasantries, and stomp back up the stairs, flinging the hairbrush in the vague direction of the cat for good measure. I return to bed. Nothing’s easy.