All is Quiet

By Alex, 7^th Grade

It’s Thursday night.

On Thursday nights, Grandmother goes to bridge club and Grandfather goes to his golf tournament. And I’m “stuck” at “home” with Justin for four hours or so until someone gets home.

Thursday nights are the best nights of my life.

Since Mom and Dad died, me and Justin have lived on Christie Street with our grandparents, and it could easily be classified as the most boring household in the whole of California.

So it’s Thursday night.

Justin, who is seventeen, has to listen to the safety lecture from Grandmother before she leaves.

“Don’t open the door for anybody except me or George,” she rambles, “and if someone telephones, don’t tell them you’re home alone. But be sure to take a message. Don’t let Avery have any more ice cream, and no television until all of your homework is done.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Justin says in his most sarcastic voice.

“George should be leaving in a few minutes. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Grandmother winks and gives us a little smile.

“Bye, Grandmother,” I say. “Have fun at bridge club.”

And now I’m regretting it. Grandmother leans forward and pinches my cheek before ducking out the door.

Grandfather comes down the stairs just as the door closes.

“Now, Avery, Justin, I’m off to golf. Don’t open the door for anybody except me or Mary, and if someone telephones, don’t tell them you’re home alone. But be sure to take a message. Don’t let Avery have any more ice cream, and no television until all of your homework is done.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” we both chorus.

“Good evening, children,” he says in his most formal voice.

“Good evening, Grandfather,” I say.

The door closes again, and at last, Justin and I are alone.

“So, Ava,” he says, grinning, “how about some of that ice cream?”

From four-thirty to five-fifteen, we succeed in breaking almost all of Grandmother’s rules. Both of us polish off the blueberry ice cream, we watch ten minutes’ worth of TV before Justin even glances at his geometry homework, and we open the door to grab a UPS package. And now we’re bored.

Justin is lounging on the couch, holding the remote lazily in one hand, ratty T-shirt covered in blue drips from the ice cream. I’m on the floor, the TV guide open on my lap.

“What now, Ava?” Justin yawns. “More TV?”

“Nah, there’s nothing good on.”

“Some (gasp) homework?”

“Do you feel all right?”

After we get the giggles out, Justin pulls his thoughtful expression.

“Let’s see. We ate the ice cream, we watched plenty of TV, we opened the door….All that’s left is the phone.”

“Justin, we can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s a rule. It’s basically made to be broken!”

“That one’s really dangerous. And besides, no one’s called us yet.”

Right at that moment, the phone rings.

I lunge for it, but Justin gets there first. At least I can stab the speakerphone button before he starts talking.

“Hello, Gordon residence,” he says with a giggle.

“May I speak to George or Mary Gordon?” a creepy male voice responds.

“Oh, they’re not here right now,” Justin says with a smile, despite my angry glare. “May I take a message?”

“Very well, young man. Consider yourself warned.”

A click and a dial tone.

I turn around and give Justin my very best Look.

“Avery, you participated in a fair amount of rule-breaking before I ever picked up the phone. So I wouldn’t be talking. Or Looking.”

“Fine!” I say. “Then you can tell Grandmother why we’re getting calls from a stalker.”

The phone rings again, and this time I grab it before Justin can get there.

“Hello, Gordon residence.”

“I’m watching, Avery,” the same creepy male voice says.

Justin is holding the extension. His mouth is hanging wide open and he’s staring at me.

“Ava-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I respond. “This is your fault, and you’re going to fix it.”

“Okay,” he says, concentrating. “If he calls again, we go hide in the basement until Grandfather gets home. If he doesn’t, we forget this whole thing and never mention it again. Until he calls or someone gets home, we pretend like nothing’s wrong. Okay?”

“Okay.”

From five forty-five to six o’clock, Justin and I sit nervously in the den. Justin flicks through a magazine. I stare out the window, watching the sun go down and cheerful yellow leaves swirl from the trees in our yard and to the ground. When I was younger, while Mom and Dad were still alive, I used to enjoy jumping into the leaves when we visited every year on Thanksgiving.

At three minutes after six, the phone rings. I pick it up, my hand shaking.

“Hello, Gordon residence,” I say. Gosh. Even my voice is shaky.

“Look out your window, Avery.”

I’ve heard that voice a lot more than I want to, and this time is no different. I lean out the window, and see a black pickup truck parked outside that most certainly wasn’t there before.

The man had hung up.

“Justin,” I manage to say, my voice sounding deadly calm and steady, “we have to get out of this house. Right now.”

Justin looks at the truck, and follows me wordlessly outside.

We head down Christie Street, and I see the truck following us, its headlights glowing sinisterly in the darkness, whenever I dare to look back. Justin keeps his head fixed firmly forward, his eyes down on the sidewalk. He crushes my hand in his large, sweaty fingers.

“Keep moving,” he says every ten squares. “Keep moving, Ava.”

Our house reappears after we’ve made a full circle. Justin quickly opens the door and pushes me inside.

We wait in the den until eight o’clock. Now it’s Justin’s turn to stare out the window while I try to focus on a book. At eight sharp, the doorbell rings.

Justin jumps out of his trance.

“I’ll get it.”

I follow him to the front door. We hold hands while Justin fiddles with the lock and swings the door wide. I don’t know what I’m ready for. A creepy guy holding a gun, a knife, I don’t know. Anything but what we actually see.

Nothing.

No one is there.

Justin closes the door and locks every single one of the three locks. He turns to me and says, “Ava, go downstairs. Now.”

“But, Justin-”

“Now!”

I’m halfway to the door when I hear a huge crash upstairs.

“Justin? JUSTIN! What was that?”

I run as fast as I can up to the source of the sound: my room. The window is broken, and the chilly fall air is blowing in.

“Justin? Where are you?”

My brother has disappeared. I look around for him, both in my room and all over the top floor of the house.

“Justin! This isn’t funny! JUSTIN!”

A piercing scream makes me jump. I’m shaking as I hurry downstairs.

“Justin?”

He’s not there; not in the kitchen, den, dining room. Against my better judgment, I even check the basement. Justin is gone.

The phone rings again. I clumsily pick it up and press the talk button. This time, I hear the voice right away.

“Go outside, Avery,” he says, and I swear I can hear him smiling. “Go on outside.”

I set the phone down on the table and head over to the back door. It’s swinging wide open, and there are scratches in the paint beneath the doorknob. My stomach clenches in fear.

The yard is dark until I turn on the big floodlight. Its glare illuminates the yard and the big pile of yellow leaves. A trail of dark liquid leads from the porch steps over to the pile. I can guess what it is.

I follow the trail over to the leaves, trying to stay within the large pool of light across the dry grass. Some of the leaves are stained red. I start digging through them.

There, in the pile of leaves, is Justin, a silver knife sticking out of his chest.

I don’t know what to do besides scream and run inside. Screaming seems like a bad idea, so I run back inside, and lock the back door. Then I scream, and it’s a wonder no one can hear me.

A little crunch and a shadowy figure moves across the light, bending over Justin. I freeze. Honestly, what do you do when a potential stalker and most likely murderer shows up in your yard? I go with my first instinct.

Well, turns out, in the long run, opening the door, running outside and tackling the guy is a really bad idea. And (figures) that’s exactly what I do.

“HEY!” I yell. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

The guy turned around, and I see the glint of the silver knife.

“HEY!”

I jump on him. Thankfully, I see the knife drop from his hand before he can plow me with it. But I’m not expecting how strong this idiot is. He manages to shove me off, grab the knife, and run away.

Back inside I go, making sure to turn off the floodlight so I can’t see Justin’s empty face staring at me. I try to remember the survival class Grandmother dragged us to four summers ago. Hide in the basement is the first thing that pops into my mind. But with a lack of electricity in the basement, I decide against that. Upstairs in a closet is my next instinct. My closet has inside handles and isn’t too much of a mess.

I head up the stairs slowly, trying not to make any noise, breathing hard. I stumble across my dark room and carefully slide open my closet door. Everything seems okay at first. I put my hand out to find the wall.

And he’s on me, holding that knife.

It doesn’t even cross my mind to scream, but thankfully I have enough sense to back away.

“It’s all right, Avery,” he says in a quiet voice. I almost want to believe him. “It’s okay. Just close your eyes and you won’t feel a thing.”

I see the blade shining, whooshing through the air. I feel it strike me, and the world dissolves into darkness.