Knock, Knock Who Is There

This is fiction. This is for people who have been manipulated.

There is violence in the story that may be disturbing to some.

~~~~~

I was in bed for the night. My mother had screamed at me to shut off the computer and the lights, and "Get your ass to sleep!" Okay, MOTHER. Freakin' calm down.

"All right, Mom. It's off, and I'm in bed. Good night."

While drifting off to sleep, people's faces crossed my mind, and I worried about the trigonometry test first period tomorrow. My body jerked like they do sometimes at the edge of sleep.

Knock! Knock! What the eff? Who's knocking on my window? I sat up, frowning.

Knock! Knock!

**

Daring Daphne

I love scary movies. I laugh when my friends are shrieking in horror or covering their faces. My best friend, Katie, constantly emits blood-curdling screams, digging her pointy red acrylic nails into my arm. I now wear thick sweatshirts to protect my skin from being punctured. Once, a ball rolled down our stairs, and she screamed at the top of her lungs, thinking it was a mouse. Geez, that Katie.

I am the fearless one in my circle of friends. They've nicknamed me Daring Daphne, which my mom hates. I am the one who confronts the danger. Why would you not want to know what is making the noise or what lurks behind the door everyone is afraid to open?

Mom and I have a once-per-month Saturday night standing date to watch horror flicks with all the lights off. We don't pick the new gory, bloody ones. We select the older, classic ones that leave some things to the imagination, making it even scarier. Occasionally, we watch one of the Halloween or Scream franchise movies. Usually, we prefer ones like Nightmare on Elm Street, Night of the Living Dead, or The Ring. She slaps my hand when I begin laughing at the absurdity of it all. The people going into abandoned houses in the dark, the slasher chasing them through the house, the girl walking out of the well. I chomp popcorn and slurp my Dr. Pepper while she cowers beside me.

**

KNOCK! KNOCK! I leap out of bed and almost do a faceplant due to the covers tangling my feet. Two steps, and I'm at the window, flipping the shade up.

Daring Daphne disappears as my stomach lurches to my throat, somersaults, and my hair stands on end as my eyes bulge out.

A face peers through the window - always one of the strange thoughts that float across my psyche from time to time. I might be eating breakfast or daydreaming while looking out the window. What if someone is suddenly at the window? OR, I could be driving along and wondering: What if someone grabs the passenger door at the stop sign, looking at me, trying to enter?

Now, I stare because it is not an imagined face. It is a middle-aged man with shreds of hair, a stubbly beard, and yellow rotting teeth showing in his leer. I pull the shade back down, backing up across my bedroom.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"GO AWAY," I yell. Banging ensued. Constant banging; no longer two evenly spaced knocks. It is a rattling of fingers on the window and fists on the house siding. How did my mom not hear this ruckus? Am I dreaming?

No, I am not dreaming.

I also am not going to open the shade again, but my mind keeps poking at me to open it. "Open the shade, Daphne. Face your fears. It's just some weird guy at your window." Over and over. I open my bedroom door, and the house is quiet. Mom has gone to bed, but her room is on the other side of the house. I run down the stairs and cross through the kitchen to her room.

**

Breakup

During the summer, I broke up with my boyfriend, Ken. We had gone together for a year, but it was a contentious relationship. He was jealous of my male friends. I am a tomboy and played sports, so the guys always hung around, gave me rides, and bought me pizza and sodas. None of them were interested in me romantically, nor was I in them. Yet Ken couldn't let it go and sometimes became overbearing, bossy, and insulting.

Jerry, the swim team captain, decked him one time for calling me a floozy because my bra strap slid down my shoulder.

Ken grabbed me by the strap, swung me around, slammed me against my locker, and said, "Look, only floozies have their bra straps showing!" Jerry was halfway down the hall but appeared next to us in a second flat. He took Ken by the collar, shook him like a puppy, dropped him, and then shoved him. When Ken stepped in, Jerry clipped him hard on the cheekbone, and down Ken went. As the teachers came to break it up, all the kids stepped back, and everyone said they had no idea what happened to clumsy Ken, but they thought he banged his head on his locker and knocked himself out. The teachers knew we were lying but couldn't do anything, so we all went to class, and Ken went to the emergency room.

He and I tried to forget about the incident, but Ken looked for things to argue over. He insisted I only ride with him; I should not go to sports games unless he were with me. He monopolized my time. Mom tried to get me to understand it was an unhealthy relationship, but I was still trying. Katie even told me she detested Ken and thought Jerry was a better fit – and I didn't speak to her for a week afterward.

The final straw was when everyone met at the community pool. The swim team was showing off dives. One was a double somersault, followed by a spread eagle, and then into the pool, vertical, like the Olympic divers. The girls laughed and scored the guys loudly, yelling the numbers from one to "perfect" ten.

I decided to try the dive. Jerry climbed the ladder with me and walked onto the board, giving me pointers as he helped me line up. As I readied for the dive, I saw Ken scowling at us below. I'd had enough of him being a bully; I turned and pecked Jerry on the cheek. Turning back, I dove and succeeded in only being scored a seven.

When I swam to the edge to climb out, Ken put his foot on my head and shoved me under the water. I kicked away, swam a few feet, bobbed up, and exited the pool. I sashayed quickly to him, stood toe to toe, and told him loudly, for all to hear, "Ken, you are the biggest asshole. Fuck off. We are done!" Then I backed away, keeping my eyes on him, and walked diagonally into the changing room.

He shouted after me all sorts of filthy names, telling me I would be sorry. He was the best thing ever to happen to me, and I would regret embarrassing him.

I heard a grunt and a splash and turned to see him landing hard on the water, Jerry standing at the side, hands on his hips.

"Stay in the pool, jerk off. Next time I will drag your ass to the high diving board and throw you off." Jerry winked at me and ensured Ken was in the pool when I left for home.

**

Knock! Knock! Oh no, there he is, at the kitchen window. His teeth are showing, like a wolf's, and he is holding a wooden staff. He bangs on the back door, so I walk to the door and yell, "What do you want?"

"I need help. Let me in."

"No, I will call 9-1-1 to give you help."

"LET ME IN!"

I dialed 9-1-1 and stood where he could see me on the phone from outside the window. I heard a crash, and a rock flew past me and hit the table.

"9-1-1, What is your Emergency?"

"There is a stranger outside who demands I let him in. He is knocking on the window and now the back door. He has a large stick; he throws a rock through the window. Please send someone. I don't know him."

The emergency dispatcher says a vehicle is on its way. I plop into a kitchen chair, watching the window and door. Suddenly, I hear distinct footsteps ON THE ROOF! Who is on the roof? Yellowteeth is now on the roof? The footsteps are moving above me.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Let me in, Daphne! I'm coming in, so open the door."

"The police are on their way. You try and get in the house, I dare you. The cops will be here any minute!"

I am hoping they will be here, but these days, the police response is not reliable or fast. Yellowteeth is tapping on the walls.

The footsteps above stop.

Where is Mom? I ran to her room and pushed open the door. Her bedcovers are undisturbed, and she isn't in there.

"MOM! MOM, where are you?" I'm screeching.

Hearing the fright in my shout, Yellowteeth pops his scraggly face back up at the window, peering in, grinning. I run to a corner where he can't see me. The window tapping begins again.

In the room above me, inside the house, I hear shuffling. I dial Katie, and she doesn't answer – like always. Then I phone Jenny, Ken's sister.

"Jenny, it's Daphne," I whisper.

"Duh, stupid, I see your number on the caller ID. Why are you whispering?"

"There is someone outside and someone inside my house."

"Why are you calling me? Call 9-1-1!”

"I did, but they aren't here. Will they even come? A weird, scruffy guy is knocking, tapping, and yelling to let him in. My mom isn't in her bedroom. I think she left when I was sleeping."

"I'll stay on the phone with you. Ken, Daphne has an intruder at her house, and the cops aren't there yet."

He begins speaking to me.

"Daphne, where is your mom's gun? Doesn't she keep it inside the empty Cheerios box on the top shelf in the pantry?"

Since I broke it off with Ken, he has barely spoken to me. It feels good to have him on my side again after all the arguments and distress we had caused each other. I feel safe with him and Jenny on the phone talking me through the invasion.

I sidle to the pantry, staying close to the wall so Yellowteeth can't see me. "You're right. I forgot about Mom's pistol."

I didn't think to ask him how he knows where the gun is.

I pull down the box and peer into it. Taking a big breath, I pull out the pistol and find it is loaded, being careful as Mom taught me. I'm not about to shoot anyone, but at least I have it in case Yellowteeth approaches me. Damn, where the hell are the cops? I duck, and step out of the pantry, returning to my corner.

"I've got the gun, Ken. I can't see the guy, so I'll wait and hope the cops arrive. I thought I heard someone upstairs, but it's all quiet now." I am whispering in the phone.

Ken had put me on speakerphone, and I had turned my speaker down. I could hear Jenny and Ken talking quietly, telling me to stay hidden and away from the windows.

Thirty minutes had passed since I had phoned the police, and they still had yet to arrive. I jump when another rock crashes through the window.

"Get away from our house. The police are coming!" I shout. I hear him crashing around in our shrubs, and then he is at the door, trying the doorknob, rattling it, and trying to get in.

Suddenly, the intruder comes through the door. I gasp, then cover my mouth, remembering he can't see me in my corner. I quietly cock the gun, readying it as Mom taught me. I stand up, waiting for him but hoping the cops will pull up. I hear him quietly moving across the kitchen.

Focused on Yellowteeth's noise, I hear nothing, but feel eyes on me from another location. He moves in, shouting; I see a blur of movement to my right, a slightly illuminated tall figure holding a weapon. Reacting, I swing toward that figure, discharging the gun twice. I aim dead center as Mom taught me. She said, "Aim dead center if it's your life or theirs. If it is not as dangerous, disable them by shooting into the leg." I hear a muffled "oof" as the figure falls to the floor, followed by an immediate illumination of the entire kitchen by the canned lights in the ceiling.

"Oh no, no, no, no!" I'm screaming and running to my mom, who is on the floor, bleeding. I sit beside her, blood bubbling from her mouth as she tries to speak. Yellowteeth had become Jeff, her boyfriend, after removing a head mask.

"What the hell did you do, Daphne? You shot your mom!"

"I thought she was a second intruder, your accomplice! The police are on their way."

"The police are not on their way. We changed your speed dial to 9-1-1 to call me. Your mom was playing a prank on you for all your Daring Daphne crap. She wanted to scare you for real. We planned it all to frighten you so you wouldn't be so cavalier and pay more attention to your surroundings. AND YOU SHOT HER!"

He dialed 9-1-1 from his phone, giving details while I tried to stop the bleeding.

"Mom, Mom, please, be okay. I didn't mean it. I didn't know it was you."

"Baby, the gun… wasn't loaded. Where did you get the bullets?"

"Mom, you're wrong. The gun had bullets in it when I took it from inside the Cheerio box. I didn't put the bullets in it. Please stop talking; it makes you bleed more."

My phone was on the kitchen floor, still connected to Jenny.

"Daphne! Daphne, pick up!" I could hear Jenny yelling over the sirens in the driveway. I gingerly picked up the phone.

"Jen? I shot Mom."

"Oh my God! Why?"

"She was in the shadows, approaching me fast, as the intruder broke through the door. Jenny, put Ken on the line."

"He left. I thought he was there with you. Isn't he there?"

When the police arrived, they tried to straighten out the stories. Over the next week, they interviewed Daphne, Jeff, and Jenny. Daphne's mom was in the ICU and told them the small part she could remember.

**

No one could find Ken.

They did, however, discover that the gun I used wasn't Mom's. It was Ken's. Ken's father identified the gun as the one he had given Ken for his seventeenth birthday. The model was not the same as Mom's.

**

Two weeks later, a hiker found the remains of a male in the woods.

He died from a gunshot to the temple. The remains were positively identified as Ken. The gun was my mom’s.

**

The school found a note Ken left in his school locker. He had come to the house when Jenny thought he was with me. Ken had sneaked in behind Mom, bent on causing more confusion and fear. He hoped I would shoot my mom, and he would be present to see it.

The second bullet I discharged had only grazed him. He had nothing to live for; I hated him, and he would go to jail, so he saw no point in continuing.

He scribbled the note in child-like printing. Nothing in it said he was sorry for treating me crappy or for putting a loaded gun in the pantry that he suggested I use for defense.

I am not sorry, either.

Fuck you, Ken, you asshole.