Just go back to bed…just go back to bed…

I drifted off to sleep in the 6′ by 7′ room, feeling oddly safe in the small cocoon of a space. My bedroom was being remodeled, but I didn’t necessarily mind this new sleeping arrangement. It was just enough room for a twin bed, and a wire for hanging clothes. A cork board hung on the wall, with photos of school friends, and notes from best friends. I was 15. And about to experience one of the most terrifying nights of my life. The wall at the foot of my bed was filled with two old windows that rattled and shook in the wind. Branches from the thick elm tree outside would often scrape the panes, but that’s not what I heard that night. A sound, so muted and quiet, screamed into my consciousness, “Wake up! Someone is outside your door.”

Blood pumped through my heart so loudly, I was certain he could hear it. It was a man. I could see large feet through the narrow crack at the bottom of the door. I held one shaking hand against the wooden door, while the other gripped the phone. I was going to die tonight. My life was over. I would be attacked, possibly kidnapped. I wasn’t ready for this. I had no defense. Why else would someone be here? Were they looking for me in my bedroom? Could they know I was sleeping in the room next door?

The man’s feet started moving toward the stairs. My parents. He was going to find them. He came for me, but he would go after them. I willed my hand to move. I released the phone from its cradle, and tried to focus on the bright green numbers. If I called 911, they wouldn’t get here in time. I had to warn my parents. My dad was our only chance. He would have to shoot them. He had to. I switched the phone to “pulse” before dialing, just in case he could hear me pressing the numbers. Only seven digits to dial, and yet it took so long to do. My parents had gotten me my own phone line, so at least I could call the main number, and they could answer in their bedroom. The phone rang. The intruder had to know I was on to him. We didn’t have much time.

My dad answered, his voice heavy with sleep. “Dad, there’s someone in the house. Get up NOW!” His response sent chills down my already terrified body. “Catherine, everything is alright. Just go back to bed,” he said in a methodical tone. The man had a gun to my dad’s head. Or maybe my mom’s. What else could explain this behavior? Still, I pleaded, “Please, just come upstairs. Please come upstairs!” Again, he said, “Everything is alright. Just go back to bed.” He hung up.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I prayed. God could save us. He just had to. I sat with my back to the door, my feet pressed up against the bed, determined that nobody was coming in here. If I had to, I would jump out the window. I didn’t know how, but I would. As I picked up the phone again, this time to dial 911, I heard footsteps. Loud footsteps. Coming up the stairs. I froze. I couldn’t finish dialing. We were going to die.

“Catherine, is everything alright?” My dad was gently tapping at the door. Was the man with him? Did he force my dad to do this? Finally, I spoke. “Are you alone?” There was only one way to find out. I smashed the side of my face down into the thick carpet, put my eye up to the gap under the door, and strained to see how many feet were in the hallway. One pair. Only one pair of feet stood outside my door. Just my dad. I stood, still hesitant to open the door.

I slowly pulled the door open, eyes darting wildly up and down the hallway. I was so relieved to see my dad. My protector. My hero. But where was the man? What should we do?

Then my dad said something that both shocked and soothed my frayed nerves. “Sorry if I scared you earlier. I came up to check on something in your room, and I was tiptoeing around so I didn’t wake you up.” Really?! That’s all?! There wasn’t a mass-murderer lurking outside my door?! I felt like such an idiot. Here I was, convinced I was going to die, when really, It was just a great big misunderstanding.  It’s funny now that I think about it. The best of intentions had the worst of consequences. Typical.