Trapped

Trapped

Violet opened her eyes and it took her a while to make out her surroundings. Then she saw them again: Silhouetted against the closed curtains by the bright light outside, the little monsters' heads were bobbing up and down. Three of them pressed their hands against the window, reaching for her.

She couldn't go to the door and shoo them away she thought, so she remained still and silent, and could just make out their muffled voices, taunting her. Eventually they went away, just like the last time. This was the third time in as many days they'd tried to get her, and she doubted she'd be able to deal with so many of them on her own.

She lifted herself slowly from her armchair and struggled, with aching joints to the kitchen. She squinted at the calendar pinned to the wall. Tomorrow was her eightieth birthday, but she would be spending it alone. Last year David, the lovely young man next door had popped in for a cup of tea, but this year he was on holiday.

David was her lifeline. He was so kind, a handsome man as far as she could make out, gentle and quietly spoken. She couldn't understand how he'd made it to middle age without being snapped up by a deserving young woman. When she had needed a doctor, he had used his telephone to call for one. Every week he would do her shopping and pick up her pension, and if ever she needed anything, she knew that she only had to knock on the wall and he'd be round in a flash. He was resourceful too, and had given her some of his camping rations when she'd run out of something. He'd shown her his survival books, which she pretended to be interested in, and there was even the time that he managed to catch a rat with a trap he'd made in her kitchen.

Violet didn't go out herself as normally the lift was broken and she couldn't manage the stairs. And those little horrors, running around and screaming on the walkways, scared her. She'd lived here all her life though and there was no way she would let the council move her out. She might be a little forgetful sometimes, but she'd managed on her own all this time, so she didn't need their help now. There was no way she'd let them poison her with that food of theirs that they brought round either. As long as she could still get around, and as long as David was next door to do her shopping, she could still cook to. He'd be back in a few days, and she was looking forward to it.

It was three days after David had gone that the visits had started. The first time they came, they just looked through the window and she thought she could hear them laughing. The second day though, they were silent and they just stared at her. That was when she'd closed the curtains, to stop them looking at her, and they'd stay shut till David got back. Then, he'd let himself in and they'd have a nice cup of tea together. She'd pretend to look at his photos, and nod as though she could hear what he was telling her of his holiday.

Safe from the terrors outside, in the sanctuary of her kitchen Violet decided it was time for a nice cup of tea. Opening the fridge, she realised that she was out of milk, but thought she might still have some of the powdered stuff in the cupboard. Clambering onto a stool, she shakily retrieved it from above the sink.

Back in her chair in the living room, she sipped her tea and squinted at the television. It was always on as it made her feel less alone, but she didn't like some of the things she saw on it. This must be the local news she thought, as she seemed to be looking at the shopping centre at the end of the road. She'd watched them build it as she had observed from her kitchen window all those years before. Back then it was bright, clean and safe. Now it was dirty and run down.

There'd been another mugging today and she shuddered at the thought of what the terrible world outside had become. As she stared at the curtains and contemplated this, she saw the shadows outside the window again. This time there were more, and at least two of them were bigger than the rest. They remained outside the window for what felt like forever. She thought she heard voices, deep menacing tones, but could not be sure. She prayed that they'd leave her alone, but the shadows were just passing. She relaxed for a second, but was startled by a thumping on the door. Her heart beat faster and she began to panic. She thought of screaming, but no one would hear. She thought of opening the door, but she was terrified of what might happen if she did. She answered the door to no one, even David, which is why he had a key. She so wished that he were there to protect her and chase away the demons. She placed her hands over her ears and hummed quietly to herself, rocking back and forth and staring at the window, creating a mental bubble in which she felt momentarily safe. Then, just as suddenly as they had arrived, the shapes passed back across the window and the monsters were gone once more.

Violet finished her tea and stared at the rogue tealeaves that always seemed to escape the strainer at the bottom of the cup. If Dear old Joyce were still alive she thought, she'd tip them out into the saucer, gaze at them meaningfully, and tell her not to worry. But she was worried. She was alone and frightened. She was tired, and as she stared at the tealeaves, she remembered the night that she and Joyce spent alone at her parents' house when they were young. They were both no older than twelve at the time, and Joyce had been round for tea after school. Violet's parents had had to go out suddenly, although she didn't know why. The two girls made the most of the novelty of having the house to themselves and spent the evening telling one another ghost stories. Joyce told some frightening tales and Violet had to sleep with the lights on for weeks afterwards. Smiling at the memory of the two of them scaring the wits out of one another, Violet gradually grew tired and drifted off to sleep.

The nightmares returned that day though, and Violet awoke in a cold sweat. She looked at the curtains, realising that it was now dark outside and thought of what had happened earlier. Shaking with fear and still gripping her tea cup so tightly that she thought the fine bone china may shatter, her mind began to contemplate the situation. The larger figures were adults, she thought. The shadows from earlier must have been the children, seeing if her home was empty. Just then they'd brought their parents with them to show them what they'd found. Now they'd soon be back to break in. Maybe she'd be lucky. Maybe they'd realise that she only had the television. It was her only form of company, and without it she'd feel even more alone. But she'd let them take it if they left her alone. She dared not contemplate the alternative.

Then the voices returned, and now there seemed to be even more than earlier. They were outside the window, and as she struggled to listen to them, she could hear the deep voices from before. This time though, as she concentrated, the voices seemed to grow and become louder, as if there were more of them gathering and moving closer. She heard them move away from the window and then the thumping on the door began again. It was incessant and grew louder with every thud. Violet tried to scream, but her mouth was dry and no sound would come out. Weeping with fear, she curled into a ball in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head. She wished it would all be over, and then the thumping stopped.

Now the only sound she could hear was that of her own heart, beating in her head. Suddenly there was an almighty crash and a gust of cold wind. They had broken through the door. She curled herself tighter and waited. She knew this was the end. She heard the knife come down, and then the sickening sound of the blade impaling flesh.

***

Violet became aware of a hand on her arm, Its vice like grip tugging at her hand. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, but her tears were obscuring her vision. She was shaking as she lifted her hand to wipe her eyes. She focused on the scene before her. Two policemen were standing in front of her and one had his arm around a young boy. Beyond them in the doorway, two men were crouched over another young lad, lying in a pool of blood with her kitchen knife protruding from his neck.

© Steve Laker, 1999.