Great Reads Contest Entries

9-1-1 (July 27-31)

The first detail I notice is the white scuff marks left on the faded wooden floor. Then, I hear the low, heavy breathing of a man in the hallway. His careful, clunking boots test the ground with consideration. My eyes crane to the ajar door where the shadow of a long, muscular arm stares back at me. He breathes deeply, leaving behind a heavy, controlled noise. My hands tighten around the small cellphone concealed between my fingertips. Crawling on my hands and knees, I slowly make my way over to the bed; I do not want to create unnecessary noise. Kayla's eyes double in size as she looks to me for comfort. We huddle behind the long shadow of the bed discretely. The smell of copper fills the room. I point to the old cell phone in my hands but Kayla shakes her head violently in response.

The white door creaks open another inch as I force Kayla farther into the small nook between the bed and set of drawers. She squirms under me, her arms heated against my cold, clammy grasp. Kayla pulls me closer next to her in the small space and grasps onto my hand harder, her small hand reddening considerably.

We are met with the cool draft of the swinging door and the sound of three footsteps. I look across the floor at the sight of the man's boots caked in a white substance. He stands still, his feet paused in front of the bed.

"Kayla, are you in here?"

He shuffles his weight between his boots. Kayla starts shaking like a leaf, her breath quickening in her throat. I clamp my hand down over her mouth as her eyes dart back and forth between me and the man waiting by the edge of the bed. Instinctively, I press the three numbers on the phone that I never thought I would use.

9-1-1.

Each click emits a high-pitched sound that alerts the man directly to our location. I hide the phone behind my back. Kayla sobs, her eyes watching the man's shadow remain in place. Her breath hitches in her throat. The pair of boots moves closer to the bed leaving behind more of the white substance on the ground. The man jerks forward onto his knees and grins at the sight of Kayla and me hiding behind the bed.

"There you are, I never thought you'd come out. Kayla, my sweet, sweet girl. We...need...to...talk. That wasn't like you to hide from me, not at all." He propels himself under the bed as I yank Kayla back out of the nook.

She's crying now, her face slick with tears. Her mouth gapes openly at the man lashing out at her. His hairy, large hand clamps down on her ankle. She yelps, her fingernails scratching furiously against the wooden floor. I grab onto her and pull as hard as I can, the sweat dripping down from my forehead. Out of the corner of my eye, I search for the phone which has fallen out of my hand in the process. The screen lights up, blinking as a small, distance voice echoes from the speakers.

"911 Emergency, how may I help you?"

I cry out and kick at the phone, attempting to bring it closer to me. It slides across the floor to the farthest corner of the room.

"Hello?" The voice asks.

Kayla is falling out of my grip, her palms loosening under my sweaty grasp. Her fearful green eyes lock onto mine and nod once to reassure me of her decision. I shake my head in denial, but she lets go of me, her body shrinking farther back under the bed until she is completely out of my line of sight and captured by that grotesque man. He latches onto her like a parasite and jerks her long red hair back, growling at her in the process.

"Never. Again." He shoves her against the door frame as she stumbles, falling to her knees.

She blinks twice and rubs at the back of her head where a red residue has appeared on her pale fingertips. Kayla gasps at the display of blood, her eyes flickering nervously between me and her enemy.

I make my way over to the drawer where I know the gun will be. I try not to draw attention to myself as I rifle through the drawer, finally finding the silver gun. It feels cool in my hands so I pull it closer to me and swing it violently in the direction of the intruder.

"Get the hell out of my house," I muster, finally finding my voice again.

He turns, his curious brown eyes resting on my face. The man tilts his chin as if to question me. He smirks, his dull eyes challenging me in the process.

The 911 operator speaks again, sounding more unnerved by the minute. I make a quick dash for the phone but am immediately blindsided by the quick lunge of the man. We grapple on the floor for the gun. His bony knees force me down as they dig into my stomach. I slam my hands against his chest and kick as hard as I can as we spiral across the floor. My fingertips finally control the barrel as my hand tightens around the loose gun. He does not seem pleased by my sudden motion; the man instantly latches onto my throat and shakes me against the door, slamming my spine harder against the rigid wood. I choke, gasping for more air, my fingers remembering the pistol still nestled between my fingertips. I blink, white specks obscuring my vision of the darkened room. I train the pistol on his chest. The distant voice from the phone repeats itself, emerging from a rapidly increasing gray tunnel.

"Don't hang up, help is on the way."

~~~
982 words.