K
Kate
Guest
Looking back, I should have seen there was a problem. Milly kept hiding in the bushes and wouldn’t come when she was called. She appeared to be terrified. Finally, I was able to grab her by the collar and attempted to drag her from her hiding place in the shrubbery behind the barbecue. Struggling violently, the silly little dog managed to slip her collar and wriggle away while I tried to grab her by the foot and the tail. She scuttled up the backyard and I followed, calling her gently to me. My voice must have eventually calmed her, as she approached close enough for me to replace her collar and pick her up and bring her inside. From then on she wouldn’t leave my side. Possibly she was missing Greg, who had taken the bus to the north to pick up a car we had ordered from the mainland. He’d be gone for hours, so Milly had better get used to just me for company. Milly followed Greg around all day, since we’d lost our other old dog Monty, whom I suspect she missed as much as we did. Monty was 17 when he died and Milly had been his sidekick for 12 years.
I’d pottered around all morning cleaning downstairs which we ran as a bed and breakfast. Guests had just departed and hadn’t left much of a mess. Milly probably felt excluded, as she was never allowed downstairs. The departing guests were a nice couple from New South Wales. The man had recently retired and they were touring Tasmania. I checked the guest book and found they had written how they had enjoyed sharing our home and inviting us to visit them if were ever in their part of the world. After a low calorie snack lunch – I was desperately trying to lose weight - I started ironing the linen, a never-ending job for me when we had guests. Milly sat right under the ironing board and generally made herself a nuisance. When I later sank on to the settee to have a rest, she huddled close beside me, and even when I visited the bathroom, wanted to sit right beside me until I sternly made her wait outside the door.
The afternoon was drawing in and the heat of the day giving way to a soft sea breeze. We’re lucky here near the water that even on the hottest of days we usually get that refreshing breeze about 4 o’clock. Greg wouldn’t be home until after dark with the new, used car. When I heard the doorbell my first thought was more tourists looking for a bed, and trudged down the stairs and threw open our front door, ready to say we weren't taking bookings for this evening. The fist hit me square in the face and I staggered back against the doors that led to the guest rooms. A large form pushed in behind me and slammed the door and I heard the lock turn. I heard Milly scampering down the stairs, yelping in fright.
“Please, don’t hurt me! What do you want? There’s no money in the house”, I managed to blurt out between sobs. My back felt bruised and sore and my head ached where it had hit the heavy wooden doors.
“Just shut up!” A snarl rather than a command, and I did just that!
“Where is it? Where have you hidden the stuff?”
“I don’t know what you want”, I stammered, terrified. “What are you looking for?”
“Don’t get smart with me, cow. Give me the stuff or I’ll kick the living daylights out of your stupid little dog here”.
Milly was jumping all over me, as frightened as I was. She’d known that something bad was going to happen. She’d been trying to hide herself. Pity I hadn’t hidden with her, I thought.
I looked at my assailant. About 25 I guessed, a thickset fellow with greasy long hair and a pimply hooked nose.
“Get up, cow”, he said grabbing my arm and forcing me up the stairs. My mind did cartwheels, along with my heart. Would he kill me, rape me? At the very least he was going to hurt me – in fact, had already done so if my throbbing face and back were any indication.
We staggered into my living room and he shoved me down on the settee where I had earlier been dozing and reading at peace with the world. He began opening the doors to my china cabinet, scattering my precious pieces in the process, screaming at me to give him the “stuff”. Trembling violently I pleaded with him to tell me what he was looking for, but a torrent of abuse and threats of further violence were the only result. He continued his rampage through my beloved collection and then started ripping my paintings from the walls. Moving through to the kitchen he threw open every cupboard and drawer strewing the contents on the floor. Milly was under my feet shaking and cringing as I tried to stop the intruder from further devastation. As I started towards him, Milly dashed between my feet and I fell heavily, knocking into him. I’m no lightweight and the impact caused him to stagger and stumble heavily into the door. He grunted as he slid sideways, losing his footing. I heard his skull connect with the hard ceramic tiles of my kitchen floor and winced despite my terror.
I ended up lying on top of him, my face buried in his chest, which smelled of a mixture of musky deodorant and old sweat. When I opened my eyes I could see the blood oozing from his lank black hair and spreading in a pool over the floor. I crawled across his body and dragged myself upright by holding on to the bench top. The phone was a few feet away and I stumbled across and dialed triple-oh. It was only a few seconds before I got a response and I gabbled out my predicament to the operator. After ascertaining where I was she told me to lock myself in a room in the house if possible and wait for the police. I raced downstairs, Milly hot on my heels – well, raced as quickly as my battered body allowed. The door handle had been faulty in the connecting door to the guest area for some time. I’d told Greg I had difficulty opening it, but because he could manage it with his stronger wrists nothing was done to improve the lock. Shaking uncontrollably, it seemed to take hours to open the wretched door and I could hear groaning from upstairs and then a roar of outrage. Heavy footsteps thumped down the stairwell.
Desperately, I wrenched at the door handle and thanked every god you’ve ever heard of from Apollo to Zeus when it finally opened. Milly and I darted inside and I slammed and locked the door, this time without any trouble – divine intervention I’m sure. But he was kicking at the doors. They were Tasmanian oak, but they wouldn’t withstand too many kicks like that. Desperately I tried to think and then remembered the connecting door through to the garage where our old car sat waiting for a buyer. I turned and flew down the corridor like the hounds of hell were after me, even beating Milly to the garage entry. Once through the door I locked it behind me and pulled the driver side door handle. Locked, of course! No keys down here, you stupid woman. I crouched behind the car, listening to the splintering sound of the doors giving way.
Milly was crawling up into my lap, shivering and whimpering and I was in a state of hysteria. My breath came in long, rasping gulps and my heart was racing alarmingly. As if through a fog my brain finally registered the sound of the police sirens, the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. Milly found her courage and started barking furiously and I found my voice and started to scream. The assault on the doors stopped abruptly. I used the manual override to open the garage doors and fell into the arms of a burly police officer. Another tall and lanky policeman had kicked in our front door and was frog marching my assailant to the police vehicle. He handcuffed him and shut him in the police car and returned to where I was standing, crying onto the shoulder of the second officer.
Burly and Lanky took me inside and sat me down at the table in the guest dining area and took my statement. They could keep an eye on the intruder from there, as the floor to ceiling windows looked out across the guest parking area and allowed an uninterrupted view across the beautiful River Derwent. I couldn’t tell them much - just that the man had forced himself into my house when I answered the door and that he seemed to think I had something stashed away that he wanted. Burly and Lanky were of the opinion that he was looking for money, because we would keep cash on the premises being b and b operators. We had credit facilities, I explained, and hardly anyone paid in cash. The assailant was high on drugs, Burly observed, if his eyes were anything to go by, and probably didn’t know where he was or what he was looking for. But it could also have been the result of the crack on the head he’d received, added Lanky.
”Did you hit the fellow with a baseball bat or something?” Lanky looked puzzled. “He’s got a decent old wound on the back of his skull”.
No, just fell on him I had to admit, and they hid their amusement well. He cracked his head on my kitchen tiles, I explained. After the police had checked the property to make sure the robber didn’t have any accomplices they suggested I ring a neighbour or friend to come and stay with me. I rang Greg and found he was only half an hour or so from home and assured the police I’d be fine for that short time. My injuries were superficial and I was only bruised and very shaken. When the police left, I poured myself a stiff whiskey and lay down on the bed with Milly snuggled up beside. She went to sleep immediately and before long she was snoring loudly as usual. I decided to forget my diet for a few days as there was no doubt my weight had played a part in my survival of this terrible attack.
(Fictitious by Kate 2007)
I’d pottered around all morning cleaning downstairs which we ran as a bed and breakfast. Guests had just departed and hadn’t left much of a mess. Milly probably felt excluded, as she was never allowed downstairs. The departing guests were a nice couple from New South Wales. The man had recently retired and they were touring Tasmania. I checked the guest book and found they had written how they had enjoyed sharing our home and inviting us to visit them if were ever in their part of the world. After a low calorie snack lunch – I was desperately trying to lose weight - I started ironing the linen, a never-ending job for me when we had guests. Milly sat right under the ironing board and generally made herself a nuisance. When I later sank on to the settee to have a rest, she huddled close beside me, and even when I visited the bathroom, wanted to sit right beside me until I sternly made her wait outside the door.
The afternoon was drawing in and the heat of the day giving way to a soft sea breeze. We’re lucky here near the water that even on the hottest of days we usually get that refreshing breeze about 4 o’clock. Greg wouldn’t be home until after dark with the new, used car. When I heard the doorbell my first thought was more tourists looking for a bed, and trudged down the stairs and threw open our front door, ready to say we weren't taking bookings for this evening. The fist hit me square in the face and I staggered back against the doors that led to the guest rooms. A large form pushed in behind me and slammed the door and I heard the lock turn. I heard Milly scampering down the stairs, yelping in fright.
“Please, don’t hurt me! What do you want? There’s no money in the house”, I managed to blurt out between sobs. My back felt bruised and sore and my head ached where it had hit the heavy wooden doors.
“Just shut up!” A snarl rather than a command, and I did just that!
“Where is it? Where have you hidden the stuff?”
“I don’t know what you want”, I stammered, terrified. “What are you looking for?”
“Don’t get smart with me, cow. Give me the stuff or I’ll kick the living daylights out of your stupid little dog here”.
Milly was jumping all over me, as frightened as I was. She’d known that something bad was going to happen. She’d been trying to hide herself. Pity I hadn’t hidden with her, I thought.
I looked at my assailant. About 25 I guessed, a thickset fellow with greasy long hair and a pimply hooked nose.
“Get up, cow”, he said grabbing my arm and forcing me up the stairs. My mind did cartwheels, along with my heart. Would he kill me, rape me? At the very least he was going to hurt me – in fact, had already done so if my throbbing face and back were any indication.
We staggered into my living room and he shoved me down on the settee where I had earlier been dozing and reading at peace with the world. He began opening the doors to my china cabinet, scattering my precious pieces in the process, screaming at me to give him the “stuff”. Trembling violently I pleaded with him to tell me what he was looking for, but a torrent of abuse and threats of further violence were the only result. He continued his rampage through my beloved collection and then started ripping my paintings from the walls. Moving through to the kitchen he threw open every cupboard and drawer strewing the contents on the floor. Milly was under my feet shaking and cringing as I tried to stop the intruder from further devastation. As I started towards him, Milly dashed between my feet and I fell heavily, knocking into him. I’m no lightweight and the impact caused him to stagger and stumble heavily into the door. He grunted as he slid sideways, losing his footing. I heard his skull connect with the hard ceramic tiles of my kitchen floor and winced despite my terror.
I ended up lying on top of him, my face buried in his chest, which smelled of a mixture of musky deodorant and old sweat. When I opened my eyes I could see the blood oozing from his lank black hair and spreading in a pool over the floor. I crawled across his body and dragged myself upright by holding on to the bench top. The phone was a few feet away and I stumbled across and dialed triple-oh. It was only a few seconds before I got a response and I gabbled out my predicament to the operator. After ascertaining where I was she told me to lock myself in a room in the house if possible and wait for the police. I raced downstairs, Milly hot on my heels – well, raced as quickly as my battered body allowed. The door handle had been faulty in the connecting door to the guest area for some time. I’d told Greg I had difficulty opening it, but because he could manage it with his stronger wrists nothing was done to improve the lock. Shaking uncontrollably, it seemed to take hours to open the wretched door and I could hear groaning from upstairs and then a roar of outrage. Heavy footsteps thumped down the stairwell.
Desperately, I wrenched at the door handle and thanked every god you’ve ever heard of from Apollo to Zeus when it finally opened. Milly and I darted inside and I slammed and locked the door, this time without any trouble – divine intervention I’m sure. But he was kicking at the doors. They were Tasmanian oak, but they wouldn’t withstand too many kicks like that. Desperately I tried to think and then remembered the connecting door through to the garage where our old car sat waiting for a buyer. I turned and flew down the corridor like the hounds of hell were after me, even beating Milly to the garage entry. Once through the door I locked it behind me and pulled the driver side door handle. Locked, of course! No keys down here, you stupid woman. I crouched behind the car, listening to the splintering sound of the doors giving way.
Milly was crawling up into my lap, shivering and whimpering and I was in a state of hysteria. My breath came in long, rasping gulps and my heart was racing alarmingly. As if through a fog my brain finally registered the sound of the police sirens, the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. Milly found her courage and started barking furiously and I found my voice and started to scream. The assault on the doors stopped abruptly. I used the manual override to open the garage doors and fell into the arms of a burly police officer. Another tall and lanky policeman had kicked in our front door and was frog marching my assailant to the police vehicle. He handcuffed him and shut him in the police car and returned to where I was standing, crying onto the shoulder of the second officer.
Burly and Lanky took me inside and sat me down at the table in the guest dining area and took my statement. They could keep an eye on the intruder from there, as the floor to ceiling windows looked out across the guest parking area and allowed an uninterrupted view across the beautiful River Derwent. I couldn’t tell them much - just that the man had forced himself into my house when I answered the door and that he seemed to think I had something stashed away that he wanted. Burly and Lanky were of the opinion that he was looking for money, because we would keep cash on the premises being b and b operators. We had credit facilities, I explained, and hardly anyone paid in cash. The assailant was high on drugs, Burly observed, if his eyes were anything to go by, and probably didn’t know where he was or what he was looking for. But it could also have been the result of the crack on the head he’d received, added Lanky.
”Did you hit the fellow with a baseball bat or something?” Lanky looked puzzled. “He’s got a decent old wound on the back of his skull”.
No, just fell on him I had to admit, and they hid their amusement well. He cracked his head on my kitchen tiles, I explained. After the police had checked the property to make sure the robber didn’t have any accomplices they suggested I ring a neighbour or friend to come and stay with me. I rang Greg and found he was only half an hour or so from home and assured the police I’d be fine for that short time. My injuries were superficial and I was only bruised and very shaken. When the police left, I poured myself a stiff whiskey and lay down on the bed with Milly snuggled up beside. She went to sleep immediately and before long she was snoring loudly as usual. I decided to forget my diet for a few days as there was no doubt my weight had played a part in my survival of this terrible attack.
(Fictitious by Kate 2007)
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