Home Invasion

What followed was a week --seven days-- of blissful alone time. Just you, all comfy-cozy in your grandmother's house, working the days and sleeping the nights away.

Well... Some moments were more blissful than others.

You'd never been to therapy, but you got pulled out of classes to see a school counselor for a few sessions during elementary school. That was when your mother was at her worst... She couldn't take care of herself, much less you. The dirty clothes and lack of lunch money must have tipped someone off.

Nevermind all that, though.

Something the counselor said that stuck with you to this day was how a common trap with depression was social isolation. She advised strongly against it, claiming, "Social withdrawal amplifies the brain's stress response. Social contact helps put the brakes on it. Try reaching out to your friends and family when you're having a hard time."

The problem was you never thought you were in a bad enough mental state to require reaching out. Like, it was never an option that crossed your mind. It was only after you got yourself out of a bad spot --like breaking out of a week-long anxiety spiral-- that you looked back and figured you probably should have asked for help.

You were doing so well, though! Sure, you were iso-lat-ed, but that didn't mean you were iso-lat-ing. Checkmate.

You didn't need Lanius. You didn't need anyone.

Until you did. Desperately.

It started out as an evening like any other. You were laying in bed, reading a book since your phone and computer were basically reduced to paperweights. Just winding down for the night.

Then there was a sudden bang outside strong enough to rattle the whole house. You quickly sat up from your reclined position, wondering what in the world could have made such a racket.

Maybe it was a gunshot from somewhere in the forest? Lanius warned you to stay out of the woods, that a hunter --or, worse, a predator-- might mistake you for quarry.

Or perhaps it was just an icy boulder of snow that rolled off the roof and onto the porch. That would be quite the inconvenience. You just shoveled the porch and front steps the other day.

No such luck. Another bang.

You climbed out of your warm bed and tip-toed out into the den. By the time the third bang rang out, you realized where it was coming from.

Someone --or something-- was banging on your front door. Not knocking. Banging.

You were suddenly very grateful that you'd been locking the door at night, despite not thinking you'd ever need to.

You ran around turning on all the lights in the house, in the hopes that the knowledge that the house wasn't abandoned would scare the intruder away. But that didn't stop that steady, repetitive banging on the front door.

What were they doing? What was the purpose of all that banging? To intimidate the hell out of you? Because, if so, it was working!

You peeked through the curtains of the window closest to the entrance. Right outside the door was a mountain of a man. He was huge, the size of Leatherface or Michael Myers or some other horror movie villain. Unhelpful information, brain.

The point was that he wasn't a punk kid. There was no way you could take him in a fight or easily scare him away by threatening to call the cops.

You thought at first he was just banging on the door with his fist... But no. He was swinging something at it. You squinted at its silhouette for a while before the moonlight glistening off the head gave it away.

It was an ax.

You scrambled away from the window, looked frantically around the house. Where was the safest place to hide? Nearly every room had a window that could be broken into, and the rooms without windows didn't lock!

The sound of the banging morphed as the ax started to break through the solid wood of the door. You didn't have much time!

So you picked the place the intruder was the least likely to check. The cellar. The door was embedded in the floor and pretty well hidden by the floorboards. You should be safe there until help arrived. Hopefully.

First you turned off the living room lights, to make it even harder to differentiate where the trap door was located. Then you kicked away the rug that previously hid the cellar door under the couch. Having a rumpled rug laying out in the open would just tip the killer off that something was off with the floor.

Finally, you pulled open the hatch and all but dove feet-first inside, like Alice down the rabbit hole, closing the door after you. If you were going to land funny, you didn't want it to be on your head.

Luckily, you stuck the landing. Somehow. It was obviously a blessing you weren't intended to understand.

You wanted so badly to turn on the lights, but any light glowing up through the floorboards would immediately give away your hiding place. So, instead, you were stuck in a pitch-black, creepy basement.

All hope was not lost. Not yet. You still had your phone.

Calling 911 was too risky of a move. Every minute you spent talking on the phone was one that the intruder could use to locate you. They --whoever they were-- would get to you before the police ever could.

You needed to text somebody, and it had to be someone nearby.

Only one person came to mind.

You sent off the text message, then turned off the phone before the light or the sound of a reply could give you away. Fingers crossed it got delivered. You had a single bar on your phone, a reprieve from the zero bars you usually had.

The banging stopped. You didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one... But, soon afterwards, the temperature plummeted ominously.

You sat in the dark, scared for your life, for what felt like an eternity. You had no way of keeping track of time. Maybe you could have counted the seconds, then the minutes, then the hours... If you weren't so busy shivering from the cold and shaking from barely-suppressed sobs.

Then, finally... Finally... A light in the darkness.

The lights in the room above flicked on, and a familiar voice called out, "Y/N?"

Lanius.

"I'm here!" You called out, your voice high and shrill even to your own ears. Then, afraid she would leave without you, you fumbled in the dark for the ladder leading out of the cellar, almost fell down twice in your haste to climb up and out of this little slice of hell.

She was kneeling on the floor, looking prepared to start prying them up with her bare hands, when you climbed out. She immediately surged forward to hug you, before quickly pulling away to arms-length to give you a quick once-over.

"Are you hurt?" She demanded, sounding a little shaken herself.

"No, just scared," you whimpered. You opened your mouth to ask how she got in when all the windows and doors were locked, but your mouth went dry when you looked over her shoulder.

The front door was gone. Only a few splinters clung to the doorframe. The rest of it littered the floor.

Lanius shook you once, hard. "Y/N, listen to me!" You didn't know how much she'd said that you hadn't heard in your panic. You looked at her, eyes swimming with terrified tears. "Whoever did that might still be in the area, possibly even in the house. We need to get out of here. Okay?"

You nodded frantically.

She grabbed you by the hand and half-led, half-dragged you out of the house. On your way to her truck, you passed your car... And stopped dead in your tracks, all but collapsed in the snow, as fear struck you right between the ribs.

There was a dead buck splayed over the hood and windshield, just like the one you found on your porch a little more than a week prior. All four tires had been slashed. And "DEAD MEAT" had been more than keyed --carved-- into the side.

You expected Lanius to dislocate your shoulder in an attempt to get you moving again. Instead, she scooped you up in her arms, quickly carried you the rest of the way. She was none-too-gentle in putting you in the passenger seat, all but stuffed you inside before slamming the door and jogging to the other side.

Even as the two of you sped away into the night, toward safety, your gaze remained glued to the side mirror, watching in numb horror as that empty doorway and ruined car disappeared into the distance.

------

Mr Wolf, Mr Wolf, what time is it?

Nine o'clock...

------