The Soul Bazaar

A noise. Quiet, muffled. Guilty. A noise of stealth gone awry, a pause hidden in the surrounding silence.

Bryn stirred in the darkness of his attic bedroom. The foggy stillness drifted along the landing and into his room. He awoke, and his hand shot across to the far side of the double bed. The empty far side, as it had been for several months now. He always kept his mobile under the adjacent pillow. His fingers grasped for the phone's smooth edges. He shivered. Was the window open? His room was never this cold. Not even in winter, when the mournful sea winds blew in from the bay.

Another noise, clear and distinct. He raised his head. From outside he heard tins rattle to the tarmac, chased by the clink of a bottle. Cats, or a fox. For a second he hoped it was what had roused him from his dreams. He laid his head on the pillow and pulled the duvet over him. He listened, every sinew a violin string of tension. He'd been dreaming when the noise awoke him, but couldn't remember the dream in any detail. As ever he was grasping at fragments. His mind drifted back towards sleep.

There it was again, the muffled sound. A chill gripped him. There was someone in his house. His fingers wormed around beneath the pillow. No phone. He reached for the bedside cabinet, praying for the mattress not to creak. The door was ajar. He hoped whoever was downstairs wouldn't hear him whisper into the phone when he called the police.

Shit. He'd left his mobile downstairs. It was probably still on the coffee table in front of the TV. The large, expensive OLED above the Blu-ray player, next to the Bang and Olufsen, across the hall from his office where he kept his Macbook. Somewhere near where he thought the noise was coming from.

A burglar.

He shuffled to the edge of the bed, hoping the soft glink of mattress springs wouldn't give him away. He strained to hear over the sound of his hammering heart. The heavy thumpthumpthump, the blood coursing through his ears... he was a fox listening for prey through passing traffic. He tried to calm himself, tried to concentrate on picking up anything from outside the room. Anything that might give him a clue as to who was in his house, what they might be after. How big was this person? Which room were they in?

His mind was troubled, his body sympathetic. Taught. He listened some more, heard nothing. Couldn't rest. He couldn't be certain whether the noises had pulled him into wakefulness or pushed him from a dream. Nothing felt real anymore, not without her. Still the house was silent.

An old friend of his, an actor, once told him a technique she used to calm and focus before going on stage. Start with the head and work your way down, relaxing every muscle as you go. Scalp... face... shoulders... the tension sluiced from him as he focused on each part in turn. Arms, fingers, back... with each loosened muscle he was more ready to confront whatever awaited.

Until he heard it again. A subtle rustling of the shadows, as if they were forming into substance. It taunted him, daring him to get up and look. He could have sworn the noise was closer than before. The tension took a few sly steps back into the ground it had lost. He didn't bother fighting back, just concentrated on keeping his breathing as quiet and steady as possible.

What to do? Should he wait here for the intruder to enter his room, hoping to attack first? Was that what they wanted, for him to remain hidden while they snuck in and trapped him in this room?

No. He had to get out of here. Ensure he met this intruder on his feet, not in his bed.

He inched back the duvet. His feet drifted to the deep pile of the carpet. He reached for the bedroom door, then hesitated. He fished his slipper from under the bed. If whoever was there knew what they were doing, they'd likely strike at the doorway the second the door opened. He crept to the far side of the door and lowered himself to one knee. He hooked his slipper over the handle and steeled himself to strike upwards at whatever entered. Hard and fast from this position, one forearm protecting his head, he could drive his fist into a groin, solar plexus, jaw, nose... all sensitive targets that would soften any attacker for a second and third blow.