Name: Crawl Space

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An intruder has entered Natasha’s house, but what does he want?

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A figure lurked through the shadows, slinking along the depth of the blackness, sure to keep himself completely hidden from any wandering eyes of the many houses surrounding the backyard in which he targeted. The mid-October air cooled his skin, causing goosebumps to appear as if suddenly frightened. The cold wind howled, rustling the decaying trees, swiping the corner of the man’s jacket up slightly, though the barely noticed. The backyard was coated in darkness; only the bright orange moon and back garage light lent any help in lighting the area, though it did very little.

A motion detector light suddenly flashed one as the perpetuator scurried from his original spot amongst the trees to a nearer spot closer to the house before him. Carefully and stealthily, he waited patiently, crouched behind a string of bushes, for the light next door to burn out before he made another move. Slyly, he is a fox as he darted past a large window overlooking the beautifully organized garden to the back door. Crack. He paused momentarily, foot frozen in the air that urged him on, growing louder and louder as the minutes wore on. He kicked away the twig in which he stepped on, causing the reverberating sound in the silent night, and watched him every step as he ran for the back door; his entrance. The door, an old cracked door with two glass windows, was merely and weakly guarded by a short, rusted fence that was quite easy to hop over as the man moved.

Arrived at the door, he stood on the concrete steps and withdrew a blade from his jean pocket, a simple cutting knife generally made for cutting off chunks of rope. Carefully, he began to promptly cut open a small hole in the first door of the pair, not once flinching as the blade met the wiring of the screen, how it creaked and bent as he worked. Once he’d finished, resulting in a hole only large enough for a fist, he slid his hand through the hole to unlock the latch that separated him from the second door, the deadbolt.

He pulled out a hair clip from his jacket and fixed the tip into the doorknob, attempting to unlock the door like he was always taught. As he was doing this, the residents inside the house stirred. A dog, a small black and white Beagle, raised his head at a distant sound. The dog listened intently for a mere moment before settling his head back down in the same place, only to look up again. This time it was clear. Stretching after he stood, he paced the queen-sized bed, making every attempt to wake his dormant master with little results. The sound from the front of the house was growing louder so he grew more restless. He barked, but it was low and barely hearable.

The door, down the hall in the kitchen, creaked open. The dog lost it; he howled and barked as loud as he could possibly go, jumping up and down on the bed. He leaped off the bed and stood impatiently at the wooden door, laden with pictures and magazine clippings in a master collage. He scratched at the door, tearing a few of the pictures in the process then turned his head to look at his still sleeping master. The woman, tucked away securely in her comforters, barely stirred. Well too much snug in her place, she only groaned at her pet, shooing him to be quiet so she could sleep. But her animal was relentless; he continued on his rampage.

Annoyed, she threw away her warm covers and marched to the door, lecturing her dog on everything she had to do in the morning and that he was crazy for being awake at five thirty in the morning. She flipped on the light, a montage of red and black, and opened the door. Before she could say another word, the dog barreled down the long hallway to the front of the house.

"Charlie!" she breathed harshly. "Charlie, stop being stupid. Get back here! Charlie!"

The college sophomore crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the wooden floor, aggravated out of her mind at the delinquency of her pet. She waited for him to return with his tail between his legs, appearing all guilty and embarrassed for waking her up and running after nothing, but after a few minutes, he didn’t return. He just kept barking in the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, she sighed and retreated to her asylum. The walls were a blood red but all wall surface was nearly hidden by poster after poster or other things. Her stereo sitting on the armoire beside her bed was still on and lowly singing out the Queen of the Damned soundtrack. The woman groaned at her negligence and returned to the door. She stared down the dark hallway then realized all was silent. No more barking, no more howls, anything. Instead, footsteps echoed over the walls of the old, creaky house. A ghastly fear rose in her chest.

The man smirked when the woman’s dog arrived in front of him. From the many stories he expected a German Shepherd or at least a Labrador, but not a small Beagle. He merely shook his head and popped the dog over the head with his arm, silencing the rampant animal. He didn’t believe in cruelty to animals, but when a certain creature interferes in a mission, drastic measures must be taken. He stepped over the fallen animal and headed across the kitchen to the dining room. It was normal, nothing much to look at, except possibly the many inherited rooster figurines. He proceeded into the living room.

The woman, hearing the footsteps moving closer and closer to her, shut off the light in her room and slowly stalked down the long hall. In her opinion, the hall was the Shining Hall due to its great similarity to the movies creepy hall. She stopped midway down the hall, beside the bathroom she shared with her currently absent roommate. The figure lurking around her house was in the next room.

Hurriedly, she flew into the bathroom and closed the door, only leaving it partially ajar. She paced, growing increasingly panicked, and tried to think of somewhere she could hide until the man left her home. She looked around, trying to devise a plan, but nothing fit together. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the crawl space where she dumped her dirty laundry. It was only a small crevice, but if someone was small enough, you could sit in it. Moving swiftly, she opened the crawl space door, carefully not to let it clank to the floor and dragged the basket of clothes out of the space. She depleted the basket and its contents into the tub, drawing the shower curtain so that basket and all was hidden.

Absconding, she eased herself slowly into the space, having only slight difficulty. Luckily she herself was not a large person so she fit easily. Sitting with her knees drawn to her chest, she was cramped. She leaned forward and grabbed the door, looping her fingers around the cut out design on the door. She was caught in pitch black.

For minutes nothing happened. The footsteps of the stranger grew closer until she heard him peak into her roommates room, hearing the rustle of her Mardi Gras beads she insisted on hanging on the door.

Then the bathroom door creaked open and the man walked into the small rectangular room. It took all of her might to not scream; she instinctively covered her mouth to stop any sound of her fast breathing. Tears welled up in her eyes and she shuddered like an Arctic breeze had just blown in. She trembled more and more, officially scared for her life. The man paused at the door then stepped forward, peaking in the wall cabinet. The woman wanted to know what he was looking for but wasn’t about to ask. His shoes squeaked as he spun on his heel, directed at the shower. He hastily drew back the shower curtain like he wanted to scare someone or reenact the scene from Psycho. The woman heard him pause. Oh God, she thought, He’s found the clothes. Oh God, help me—.

Before another word clouded her mind the door to the crawl space flew open and a rough hand yanked on her hair, dragging her out painfully. He brought her to her feet, despite her yells of protests. He slammed her against the cabinet, stabbing her back with a steel doorknob. Wincing, she glared at him, only to see marred eyes staring back at her. All expressions vanished; she knew this man, but vaguely. She couldn’t remember.

"Hello Natasha." He said curtly. "Now, what would the President say if he found out his daughter was cowardly hiding in the laundry crawl space?"

Before she could respond, the man rose his hand and she screamed, shielding her face. His hand connected with her cheek and her world faded to black. She barely felt her body fall to the floor.

FINIS