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Tilly
Istoppeddrawingwhen the hair on my arms rose and my knuckles turned white from gripping my pencil.
My gaze lingered over my art work as I wondered if the noise I heard was a figment of my imagination, but the moment my heart rate spiked at the sound of more glass shattering, it was the moment I knew it was very real.
I dropped the pencil and rubbed my clammy hands on my leggings before I scrambled to my bedroom door. My hand clutching the handle, bracing myself to investigate, but when I heard an unfamiliar masculine voice roar with demands.
I stalled.
Fear kindled my gut and blood stormed through my veins as I leaned my ear against the wood. Hearing another slam of a door and heavy footsteps pounding on the staircase, and my stomach stirred again.
“I’ve called the police!” my father yelled. His deep voice was unmistakable.
There was a light tap on my door, and my eyes grew wide as I watched the handle lower. I stood back, open-mouthed, and rubbed my hands over my goosebump prickled skin, shivering as a chill covered my body.
“It’s me, Tilly,” my mother called, and I cracked open my bedroom door. But her sickly pale face made my blood run cold. “Hide,” she whispered.
“Who is it mum?” I murmured.
She tiptoed away from my door at hearing my father’s raised voice downstairs. She turned back to me, placing her finger over her lips as she glanced down the stairs.
“Mum,” I whispered.
She spun to me and I caught her panicked wide eyes as she stood shaking at the top of the staircase. “I told you to hide,” she whispered.
She stepped to the side of the staircase and partially hid her body behind the wall and peered toward the sounds.
I couldn’t hear the words from downstairs, only the loud roars and shouting from deep, manly voices.
“Mum,” I whispered. “Who are they?”
She turned and frowned. “I said hide, de-scent your room and yourself and do not come out until the morning.” Her tone was a mixture of challenging and pleading.
The sound of heavy footsteps reached the stairs.
Mum pressed her back against the wall as her mouth fell in an ‘o’ shape. She turned to me again. “I love you, Tilly, please do this for me.” Her voice was softer as she closed her eyes and breathed noisily through her nose.
I swallowed. Knowing how scared she was, and if they scared her, they terrified me.
“Please hide too,” I said with a nod and rushed inside my bedroom, switched on the room de-scenting diffuser, grabbed my spray and pressed open the central wooden panel, disguised to look like a decorative wall in my bedroom.
I slipped inside and pulled the door shut with a quiet click, powered down my mobile phone because I didn’t want to be that person who was safe but got caught by a ringing mobile and letting the monsters know where she hid.
It was a small space, approximately five by five, with a makeshift bed at the back and enough space to sleep in the fetal position. A warm duvet and pillow lay on the bed and my parents hung a tote bag on a hook in the corner. Inside the bag were a pair of leggings, a sweater, underwear, shoes, and a couple of bottles of water. There was a spare mobile, a new SIM card and a thousand pounds—enough to take me somewhere safe.
I plunged my hand in the bag and noticed the mobile was a recent iPhone model. There was also a debit card and details of a bank account. That was something unexpected.
The sound of my blood crashing through my veins pounded in my ears. I stepped the short distance to the bed and laid, curling myself in a ball, hugging my knees close to my chest.
Fear for my mum and sister, Georgie, spiralled. My chest heaving with apprehension, and a stirring in my stomach made me nauseous. I blinked hard for a moment and swallowed the sour taste that rose to my mouth. My gaze dashed to the closed circuit television screen, and I nibbled my lip, not knowing if I wanted to see what was happening, or if I was happy being locked away in oblivion.
Finally, I picked up the remote control with shaky hands and turned on the screen, switching the camera to face the upstairs hallway. Mum wasn’t there, and I sucked back a sob of relief that she’d taken her own advice.
Once I felt composed, I switched the screen to downstairs and turned the sound to the quietest I could, enough for only me to hear.
Standing guard at the front door was a man wearing black, including a balaclava hat that showed only the shape of a masculine face and his focused eyes. My hand covered my mouth as I gasped at the baseball bat that swung low in his right hand. I adjusted the camera angle to see where he was looking.
There was a light shining in the hallway showing another three men. They were talking, and I realised my father was in the middle of them.
Dad’s face turned into a grimace as one man pointed a finger at him. I turned up the sound with one more click. Making sure that no one could hear any noises coming from this room.
“I don’t know where she is?” my father said, his baritone voice now had a begging tone.
She?
I puffed out my cheeks and wondered what these men wanted.
“Where is Georgina?”
Oh, my god. They’re looking for my sister.
“I don’t know. I was working late tonight, and I thought she’d be in bed.”
“And Matilda,” a man with an Irish accent said.
“Shit,” I whispered.
I clicked the camera to view my sister’s bedroom. She wasn’t there. Normally that would worry me, not today. I hoped she’d hidden behind her bedroom panel. But Georgie was eighteen, a year older than me, and she had a boyfriend and that was a problem. She and my father had plenty of arguments about her staying out too late at night. She now climbed the tree outside her room to avoid those arguments.
Please let her be hiding in her room, or not come home at all.
After watching the commotion downstairs for a few minutes, I was sure I heard humming. I pressed the remote to move the vision to the outside of the house, but could only see street lights in the distance glowing a shimmery faded light.
I glanced at my watch. She would normally be in by now. I stared at the screen again.
