Things of Fiction #3: The Intruder

             I lost my keys in the subways of New York last year.  Ever since, every night, right before I go to sleep, I think I hear someone.  Someone sliding the key through the hole, slowly turning the latch, modestly grasping the handle, and secretly cracking the door open just an inch.  And just as I’m about to leap out of bed, grab my crowbar, and go to war; they slip the door back shut and return the lock to its rightful place.

            Every night this happens.  I question its legitimacy some nights, whereas other nights I shake with a vengeful fear- nearly paralyzed by the intruder.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ve thought about changing my locks, but I’ll be charged for the master key and have to buy everyone in the entire complex a new master key.  I work at Starbucks, I can’t afford that.

            And so I lay here every night, staring at my speckled ceiling, and I wait.  Sometimes the intruder comes right away, other nights they wait until the early hours of the morning to haunt me.  My eyes don’t close until they close the door and return the lock to its place.  It’s a game we play.

            Tonight is no exception.  I have to be up to work tomorrow at 6am.  It’s midnight.  The intruder is sometimes courteous of my schedule, but other nights I believe they play the game to see how far they can push me.  I’ve gone nights with only one or two hours of sleep before.  But what can I do?  Such is the life I lead.

            Maybe someday I’ll move.  I’ll land a gig at some huge business enterprise and make my way to the big sky scrapers in the sky, where the intruder can’t reach me.  Tonight, however, I lie awake, staring into a galaxy of speckled texture above my bed.  I do hope the intruder will be kind tonight.