I was barely able to hide in time. I heard him prowling around outside, fumbling with the lock, coming in. I dashed to the closet, scared. I crouch as quietly as I could, trying to stay calm and keep my breathing slow, my heart beating like a hummingbird in my chest.
Footsteps downstairs; he's in the living room. I can hear him shuffling slowly through the house. Steps on the stairs, slowly coming closer. Slowly, slowly, slowly. I can feel my pulse quickening. Does he know I'm here? Did I really hide quickly enough? I put my hands over my mouth and close my eyes, trying to be still and calm and quiet.
The bedroom door opens. He's in the room with me. I can hear him pacing. Will he look in the closet? I feel like screaming. Footsteps coming near me. Closer. I feel the scream behind my lips. Closer. I clamp my lips down, but the pressure inside is building. Closer.
His hand is on the doorknob, and I can't hold it in anymore. I start screaming and screaming and screaming, and I don't stop until he's dead.
Time to move onto the next house. It's going to be an intense night.
