The loud crash jolts me out of bed and a few seconds later my mother comes running in the room. “Sweetheart you need to hide, there are people in the house.” Her voice is quiet but I can hear the fear in it.My stomach drops as my body freezes.
“Now.” Her voice is a raised whisper. She points to my bedroom closet and I run trying to grab for her hand but she shoo’s me away.
I open the door thanking God for once that my closet is such a disaster. I lay on the floor covering myself with any clothes I can.
Mom quickly rushes over finishing the job for me. “No matter what, don’t make a sound.”
She quietly shuts the door and I can hear my father’s voice downstairs. I can’t make out what he’s saying but he’s yelling at someone. There is a loud bang and my heart stops. That sounded like a gunshot but it couldn’t be, this can’t be happening right now.
I lift on if the shirts just a little bit so I can see through the opening in between my door and the floor. I see mom working her way under my bed but I know I shove so much stuff under there, that there is probably no room.
Heavy footsteps sound as my whole body goes rigid. The boots stop at the edge of my bed and I hear a stomach churning laugh before his hand appears and pulls my mother’s leg out from under the bed.
I can hear her pleading with him to take whatever they want and go. I pray that he listens, and that whatever sound I heard my dad is still okay. He doesn’t say a word though. After a few more seconds another loud bang sounds and my mom falls to the floor. I clamp my hand over my mouth silently sobbing and praying that they don’t find me.
My body is stiff from fear, and I’m scared to move because I don’t want him to find me.
“Take anything that’s not nailed the fuck down but do it quick.” I hear him shout to whoever else must be in the house. He stands in my room for a minute before heading over to my dresser. “There ain’t much in here.” I hear the sound of my music box being picked up. My dad gave it to me on my last birthday. It crashes to the ground and I flinch from the noise. “All fucking junk.” The sound of the boots fades.
I can hear crashing and things being thrown around as the men tear through my family home. My mom’s eyes are closed and I pray to god that she is just passed out. She can’t be gone.
It feels like I sit in that closet for days listening to things banging and breaking.
When the closet door opens, I scream.