The Waiting Game

Wrote this to be published in my school's creative writing magazene.

My heart beats fast. The seconds feel like minutes which tick by slowly. I’m crouched in a dark corner in my room under the bed. My muscles pulse. They are filled with adrenaline and an aching cramp creeping closer and closer. Other than the heaving sound of my deep breathing there in no noise. I can faintly make out the distant sound of cars on the street below. None of them know the event happening in the house off the road. The longer I wait, the slower my heart beats. Maybe I’m safe. Maybe he’s gone. I’m suddenly aware of how tense my muscles are. I relax each part of my body slowly. One at a time I release my legs, then my shoulder, and my neck. I almost forget where I am, and why, when I hear hard footsteps somewhere in the house. All my muscles tense again and I hold my breath hoping to hear what’s coming, and I do. The footsteps are growing louder. I stare out from under the bed, careful not to be seen, when the door bursts open. The dark room is suddenly filled with eerie, dull lighting and now I hold my breath not for hearing purposes but for fear of being heard. The closet opens, hangers fall to the floor. Silence. I’m craving air. How long have I held my breath? How long have I been here? I slowly let air escape and I think he’s gone. I’m safe. I peek out from under the bed and he’s there…waiting. He sees me and a smile creeps over his face. He grabs me and in a low raspy voice that sends chills throughout my whole body he says, “You’re it.”