The Call - Fictional

The Call - Fictional

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The Call - Fictional

'Suddenly the phone went dead……..' The words running through my head
'what did he mean?' 'Tonight we shall meet again' I said back to my
self the words of the call. The hairs on the back of my neck rose like
barbed wire from the fright of hearing that husky voice this time of
night. Then without admonition 'SMASH'. the sound of smashing glass
threw me back onto my bed like a rag doll in shock, like a bolt from
the blue. Tears started to fill my eyes.

The room was dark except for the orange streetlight that is streaming
in through the window, casting long shadows across the wooden floor
and glowing on my face. Slowly I slide out of bed, pressing my warm
feet on the cold, silent floor. Creeping towards the door, I hear the
floorboards creak in the hall. Riveted to the spot with fear, I stand

Thoughts darting around in my head…Do I open the door, or just stay
put? But, maybe looking for an alternative exit would be my best
idea!? Standing, staring at my door, trembling with fright and
suspense. I look around, nowhere to go. A bitter draught flows around
me; the net curtains fly like a flag at mast. The tall oak tree
branches tap on the frosted windowpane, as if to tell me that going
out the window, was the only option I had left.

I hear the bathroom door open; their footsteps are getting closer. I
don't know who is here, trespassing in my house, taking over my
property, invading my space. Slowly I reach over for the torch that's
in the draw of my bedside cabinet. Another door creaked open. Decision
over I had to do it.

I grab my shoes and as quietly as possible slide the window up. I ease
myself out on to the ledge and shuffle along, out of view from the
window. Dizzy with height, the ground is swirling. With no time for
fear and emotions pulsating through me, I lunge forward.

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I scramble
down the trunk of the old oak tree.

I look up. I can see a silhouette peering out of my window. He has
seen me! Who is he? What does he want with me? Panic takes over and
without a second thought; I head down the path, towards the gate. The
front door swings open; he stands there, tall and mysterious. He walks
slowly in my direction as if he knows I have nowhere to go.

With my house secluded, my nearest hope is old Saran Akhtar who lives
on Mangrove farm, but that's in the village. Now I know where I have
to go, I run. Five minutes it should take me; that's five minutes he
has to catch me. The leaves crunch under my feet, the cold, frosty air
hits my face like small fingers pinching my nose. The branches whip my
face as I blindly feel my way through the trees.

Reaching the farmhouse I bang loudly on the door, hoping to wake Saran
at this late hour. He cautiously opens the door and I push through,
slipping and landing on the floor by his feet. Crying I shout at him
to shut the door.

After frantically explaining what's happening, Saran phones the
police. The kitchen window smashes and glass scatters across the tiled
floor. He is here, he followed me. What was going to happen was

Unknown but Saran grabbed for his shotgun and stood in front of me. As
the man climbed through the broken window, Saran fired a round. He
missed. The man fell into the kitchen with surprise and lay on the
floor. Saran went over to him to see if he was injured.

As Saran got close, the man grabbed for Saran's gun and shot him in
the shoulder. With a scream I stepped back onto the marble fireplace.
Saran lay defenceless on the floor, holding his wound, his face
contorted with pain.

Wishing the police would hurry I broke down in tears. I had realised
who he was; it was Ricky Singh. I was a witness in his case three
years ago. I stood against him at his trial; he had been charged with
the murder of his wife. He got off with manslaughter but there was
still a killer instinct within him.

With Ricky's eyes glaring at me, he walked forward. He crouched next
to me, his face close to mine. With his hot breath hitting my cold
face, I trembled. Saran threw a shard of glass from the window at
Ricky; he turned and stood up. As he reached Saran, I pulled out the
poker by the fireplace. Slowly and silently I followed Ricky's

Ricky grabbed Saran by his night-shirt, muttering threats. The police
arrived with Sirens blaring, and lights flashing away Lighting up the

Ricky turned to see me stood behind him. Daring not to breathe, I
swung the poker and it hit Ricky with a thud that echoed throughout
the house. His body collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap, blood
oozing from the

Gash on this head. The police barged through the door like a tsunami
of blue water. The four huge men seemed to fill the room as they
converged around Ricky's body. I took a breath of relief.

They re-arrested Ricky and then called an ambulance for Saran. The
detective took me to the station for a statement against Ricky Singh,
yet again. The police reassured me that this would not happen again, a
sense of relief and proud ness ran through me as I learned I had just
jumped a hurdle in this crazy life of mine.
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