January 1997

The room is dark, except for the pale glow behind my windowshades. The clock beside me winks into a new time: 12:33. All is quiet now; no sounds filter up from the street below.

*Click* I hear. It is the refrigerator, and the soothing whir of its motor calms me.

*Whoosh* The heater has come on, and warm air now blows through the vents.

*Tick tick* The clock in the hallway counts out the time, dependably measuring the seconds for me in its mechanical perfection.

*Cree-eak*

What was that? I don’t recognize that noise. Where did it come from? I lie still in my warm bed, hands clenching the covers beneath my chin, and listen hard for the sound.

It does not come again. This makes me afraid. Is there somebody in my house? Is he coming up the stairs to get me? I must lie very still so that he will think I am asleep. If the bad man thinks I am asleep, then he will leave me alone.

I screw my eyes shut tight and turn onto my side. I don’t turn over abruptly, but smoothly and with a quiet sigh, just like I would if I were really asleep. I know I will never get to sleep now, not with the bad man in my house.

The heater stops, and the silence is overwhelming. I still hear the tick-ticking of the clock, but that is the only sound that breaks through the still darkness.

*Thump*

I heard that!

I must keep my eyes closed. The bad man must have dropped something. But he doesn’t know that I hear him in the house. He must not know that I am really awake, listening for him. If I keep still, he will finish whatever he is doing and leave me alone. But if I get up, if he knows I can hear him, then he will do something to me. Something bad.

I must pretend to sleep. I must remain very still in the quiet night.

*Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick*

My arm itches. I must not move to scratch it, though. If I were really asleep, I would not scratch it. So if I scratch it, the bad man will know I am not asleep.

My back itches, too. And my neck. And now my right foot. I must ignore the itches. I cannot scratch them.

*Tick tick tick tick tick*

I can’t stand the itching any more. I inhale deeply and roll over onto my other side, managing to scratch my arm and back in the process. The other itches evaporate.

*Whoosh* The heater is on again. Now I won’t be able to hear as well. But I mist keep still. The bad man must think I am asleep. I must keep my –

The sun begins to rise, giving a rosy glow to my windowshades. The clock beside me shrieks, and I roll over to shut off the alarm. I’ve made it through one more night.

As a joke with myself, I check for the television, the microwave, the computer. They are all where they belong, laughing at my silliness.

“Hey,” I say aloud, breaking the morning stillness. “At least I got to sleep!”