I’ve been hiding in this closet for over an hour now. The dogs stopped barking thirty minutes ago, but I’m too scared to come out. What if they’re still there, patiently laying in wait so that as soon as I come out, BAM! They got me. I’m not even sure why they’re here. I don’t have many valuables, no diamond rings or flat-screen TVs, and no enemies, that I know of. I’m a pleasant person. But if they’re not here to rob me, it must be something worse. Like rape. Or murder. Oh god, don’t think about that, don’t think about that. It’s going to be okay. Maybe there’s nobody in the house after all. The dogs could have just been overreacting. They tried to get some food from the table and knocked over a bowl, or a cup or something. They probably saw a squirrel or saw the neighbor’s cat and just went beserk. After all, the alarm never went off. But they can disable those, can’t they? I mean, isn’t that one of the basics of being a criminal, how to disable house alarms? No, that’s ridiculous. There is not a murderer in my house. There is not a murderer in my house.

But what if they snuck in during the day, when I didn’t have the alarm on? The front door was unlocked. They could have just waltzed right in while I was in the shower. What if they’ve been here all day, stalking me, planning the best way to take down their prey? They could wait until I was sleeping, stab me in the heart, and then chuckle as the life drains out of me. Or they could drug me. Or torture me using my own kitchen utensils. God, I don’t want to die.

I’m not crazy; I’ve seen all that stuff on TV. Why do you think they have all those crime shows? It’s sure not for laughs. People watch those shows so they know the truth, that a stranger could break into their house any minute and kill them, slowly, painfully. Oh god, I need to do something. I don’t see any weapons in here, just a bunch of Halloween and Christmas decorations. If they finally decide to look in the closet, maybe I can just hit them with a bunch of glass ornaments, or smack them with the witches broom. Kind of like they do in the movies. But this isn’t the movies. This is real life, and there is a murderer in my house. Or at least I think there is. The TV’s still on downstairs, so I can’t tell if it’s the burglars talking or if it’s just the movie I was watching.

It has to be the burglars. I was in the bathroom when I first heard the door slam shut, and then, footsteps, and whispering voices. And the dogs went crazy. They wouldn’t do that if it was just the movie. Sure, they freak out whenever the phone rings on the TV, but footsteps and whispers are completely different, right?

I really need to pee. Nobody ever mentions in the stories or on the news, but hiding from criminals really makes you have to pee. It’s been quiet for a while now; maybe I’ve just blown this whole thing out of proportion, and it’ll all be nothing and I can laugh about it at work tomorrow. Okay, just take a deep breath, and open the door slightly, ever so slightly. Good. No gleeful ax murderers in sight. Just a little more so we can make sure nobody’s hiding behind the dresser. Another breath, and take a step outside the closet. You are not going to die. You are not going to die.

Wait.

I hear somebody coming.