Not Enough

Millicent, or M.C for short, has always been wary of the large old house up the street, just a few blocks from her own family home. Her grandfather warns her of it, telling her to steer clear.

"Its owned by Lawrence Cally. Trust me, he is not someone you want to be around." He would say, sitting in his old armchair on the porch, smoking his cigarette. M.C would nod, and agree. In her life, M.C was never bothered by the creepy old Lawrence, and though she always kept her distance, she forgot about him over time. As she grew, and went through school, she became a track star, a champion sprinter. She could outrun cars, her parents would say. She has a good head on her shoulders, her teachers claimed. She's gonna go far, were the words often said. Yes, M.C had a bright future ahead of her.

One day, after school, M.C joined her friends in the park on the otherside of the block, just down from old Lawrence's house. A little park, the group would sit around and chat, eat and drink and just generally be. They laughed and often dared each other to do stupid things, like putting their hand in the bin, or rolling over the grass, but today, the dares had taken a different turn.

"Go up to the creeps house and knock, and ask for sugar or something." Her friend Marissa said, grinning. But M.C remembered all of her grandfathers warnings, and all the bad feelings she had about the house and the man inside, and refused, instead opting to pass. No one else brought up the old house again, almost as if they felt it watching them, as if it had known they had brought it up.

A few weeks had passed, and M.C finds herself alone at home. She had the keys, emergency service contacts, and her parents on speed-dial. She lounged around, enjoying the peace and quiet, before she was interrupted by a sudden, loud bang on the front door. Cautiously, she began to approach it, when there was another loud bang, followed by the sound of an old man laughing.

"I know you're home, kid. I know you're alone." M.C shivered, hearing his voice through the door. It was rough, like sandpaper, and hoarse. Her heart raced, and she quickly snuck back to her living room and made sure the back door was locked before sneaking upstairs to her parents bedroom. She hid under the sink in their bathroom, and called her parents. Her father answered.

"Hey, baby, whats up?"

"Dad! Dad, he's here, he's banging on the door and he said he knew I was alone and I don't know what to do, please come home!" She tried to stay quiet, though she could still hear him banging on the door downstairs. He hadn't come in yet. Her dad hushed her.

"We're coming back right now. You're mothers calling the cops, they'll be there soon. Stay on the phone with me. Where are you?"

"In your bathroom. In the cupboard."

"Good, stay there. Don't leave, we're coming. It's all gonna be ok." M.C nodded, believing him. She knew her dad wouldn't let her get hurt, she knew that if the old man tried to hurt her, her dad and all her uncles and their friends would end up at his house with bats and poles. She knew that. It didn't help much right now.

A loud boom shook the house, and the old man laughed loudly. M.C's breathe quivered, and she tried to stifle it. She knew her dad had heard it, could hear him asking her to answer him. She hushed him and explained that he was in the house. She heard him opening doors and cupboards, and calling for her in a singsong voice. She buried herself deeper into the cupboard. Her dad told her to hang up, and put her phone on silent, and turn the screen brightness down, all of which she did aside from hanging up.

"I don't want to be alone. Please, dad."

"I'm coming, baby, don't worry. We're all coming for you. But he can't find you, ok? So hang up, I don't want him hearing us." She felt tears spill over her cheeks and awkwardly run over her nose, but she knew her dad was right. She hung up, holding back a sob as she did. She could hear the creak of the stairs as he slowly came up, his calls and sneers following, the sound of something being dragged up the walls as he came. She heard him looking through her bedroom, rummaging through her stuff, then he stopped for a minute.

"MILLICENT! WHERE ARE YOU!?" She shook, and clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle a squeak. She heard his heavy footfalls stomp through the hallway, into the main bathroom, and the spare room, then her dads office. She heard him opening cupboards and drawers, heard him going through everything he came across. She knew he was going to find her.

The bedroom door opened, and she could almost feel him coming closer. She saw when he entered the bathroom, could see through the slats of the cupboard door, and she watched in horror as he leant closer. She watched with baited breath as he put his hands on the doorknobs. She watched as he slowly opened the doors. The light was harsh when it hit her eyes, but the smell was harsher. He stunk of cigarette smoke and chemicals.

"Gotcha." He grinned, before reaching out to grab her. Panicked, M.C kicked out, kicking his leg and pushing him away, before she crawled out of the cupboard and ran as fast as she could away from him. She slammed the bathroom door shut and clicked the little lock on the door, and sprinted downstairs, and ran for the front door, hearing the loud crashes and running steps behind her. She was a track sprinter, he was an old man. She could do this. She pushed her legs, still shake-y from fear, and slammed against the front door, scrambling to get it open.

The outside air was cold, the evening sun dipping behind the horizon. The gravel crunched beneath her shoes, the air misted by her breath. The wind pricked at the tears on her cheeks, and her screams cut through air.

"HELP ME! PLEASE HELP!" The police could be heard distantly, tires screeching, sirens wailing, and doors began to swing open and the neighbours she grew up with came rushing out to help her. She felt arms wrap around her tightly and she screamed again, as she felt the cold blade press to her throat. The neighbours rushed, but everything seemed slow, the seconds like years as they passed, and M.C knew that they weren't fast enough. The lights from the sirens were just coming into view as the blade pressed down, the shouts of police officers reaching her ears as her breathing stopped.

Her parents rushed over to her, just reaching her side, just as the shots rang through the air and the old man fell behind her. She didn't hear him land.

The newspapers were filled with the tragedy, the up and coming star athlete killed by the scary old man down the road. She did everything she could have, everyone who could have helped tried their best, but their best was not enough. None of it had been enough.