Kirsten Hoffman Writing and Rhetoric 19 September 2013 AN UNEXPECTED VISIT Still, humid, Indiana air fills every

corner of my room. Hopefully sleep will come easily tonight. After lying in bed for what seems like forever, my eyelids droop and my muscles begin to feel heavy and limp. Sleep is coming. The darkness of night fills the house with silence as everyone is at rest. Or at least so I thought. Out of nowhere a loud pounding can be heard from downstairs. I hear my dogs barking from down the hallway so this has to be real. I lay silently in bed, deciding what my course of action should be. Do I remain in the safety of my bed or do I run to my moms room? If I choose the latter, I risk being seen by the thing at the door. Who could it be? Or maybe the better question to ask is what could it be? The pounding ceases for a moment and I tiptoe to the hallway. Knowing I may be seen, I hide in the shadows until I find refuge in my moms room at the end of the hall. She looks bewildered. The dogs shrill barks only add to the chaos. We stare at each other for what seems like eternity before we are able to move. We are both in shock. In the background, the pounding on the door continues, even louder than before. My mom reaches over to her nightstand and grabs her pepper spray. She keeps it next to her bed when my dad travels for work. While we live in a safe part of town, one can never be too sure. It seems as if all of our worst nightmares are coming true tonight. This is the real deal.

I reach for the phone to dial 911 and the buttons beep as they collapse beneath the weight of my fingers. We are trying to remain silent in order to hide our location. The phone rings once and then dies. Usually I have my cellphone glued to me, but of course tonight would be the one exception. This means that our only other chance of calling for help is at the other end of the hallway. We are alone with the attacker at the door. The sound of the pounding has intensified. Adrenaline is gushing through my body. I dont even realize how badly Im shaking. The pounding has stopped and the house goes still. Crashing glass breaks the silence. The intruder is in. Thoughts race through my mind a mile a minute. What should our plan of action be? We have to call for help and we cant stay in on place. What does the intruder want? Will it be a simple robbery or could these be the last moments of my life? Immediately I shake the negativity from my thoughts. I must be strong for my mom. We can conquer anything. Thumping can be heard on the hardwood floor of what I assume to be the kitchen. Drawers are wrenched open and the sound of utensils rattling on the floor echoes through the house. Whoever they are, theyre looking for something. The rustling stops and I pray that they will leave soon. My fear becomes real as they start thumping up the stairs. I rush to shut the door to my moms room but I feel as if I have been spotted. I stare out blankly into the darkness and my mother shrieks; the dogs begin growling, and our attacker begins laughing. His laugh is deep and throaty. Through the closed door I hear him retreat down the stairs. Maybe he has realized that we have nothing that would be of value to him.

Little did I know that this was only the calm before the storm. When I hear the door to the garage slam shut, I sprint to my room and grab my cell phone. As I dial 911 my mom screams from down the hallway. Hes setting the house on fire! I freeze, not knowing what to think. The operator on the phone is asking me what my emergency is and all I can do is stutter ffff-ir-ee. I was not in control of my body. Fear had taken over. We had to get downstairs and out of the house if we wanted to survive. The windows began to glow a deep orange as the flames started to consume the lower portion of the home I had grown up in. Nobody could help us now. It was too late. Floorboards were creaking; smoke was filling every crevice. Suddenly, the house was consumed in flames. The fire was hungry, and growing fast. The floor was beginning to feel spongy and delicate under my weight. The boards snapped and I was swept off my feet. I was plummeting to the first floor of the house. The floor hit me like a snowball during the deep of winter. Despite the fire, chills were taking over my body. Is this what the end feels like? My mom was still upstairs and I could hear her calling my name. At this point, I am ready for everything to be over. No feeling could be worse than being separated from your loved ones during a tragedy. The man who did this to us was nowhere to be found. We were surely going to perish in the flames, and there would be no witnesses of this malicious crime. Tears begin to fall down my face but I barely notice because of the raging heat. I have given up. No matter how hard I tried, the negative thoughts filled my mind and took control of my

actions. My eyes begin to feel heavy again and maybe this will be the peaceful sleep I was seeking for so long. The sound of heavy breathing floods my room. The sound of gushing blood pulses through my ears. My heart feels as if it will explode. I am so preoccupied with the current events that I am unaware of how loud my breathing had become. A wave of relief flushes over me when I realize that the horrifying experience that I had just lived through was nothing but a dream.