- Hannah Noel
Night Guard
Updated: Apr 9
The bones of the old house shift and settle, its groans mingling with the wind’s high-pitched screams. Underneath my hand, the kitchen window is ice cold. The sky is black and moonless, and I see nothing but the vague shapes of thrashing trees in the backyard. The great, terrifying expanse of night looms over me.
I close my eyes and press my forehead to the glass. The chill soothes the heat of my overworked brain. I take a deep breath and look outside again—nothing out of the ordinary. Still, discomfort creeps down my spine when I turn my back to the window. The decorative handle of the fire poker will surely leave dents in my hand, but I grip it tighter anyway.
In the hallway, I pause outside my baby brother’s room, my ear to the door. The wind is still too loud. Careful not to rattle the bell on the handle, I let myself in. My eyes adjust to the darkness until I can make out his chest softly rise and fall. Some tension leaves me. I continue on, shutting the door silently behind me.
I pause again outside my parents' room.
“...worried she’s getting worse,” Mom says. Immediately, I turn away. In a feat of perfectly timed misfortune, my foot lands on a squeaky floorboard. Mom’s voice quiets.
Footsteps.
I’m frozen.
Mom looks tired when she opens the door. She regards me: my guilty expression, the school uniform I never changed out of, and the fire poker hanging from my hand. I should have grabbed the hammer instead; it would have been easier to hide behind my back.
“Cass,” She whispers, exasperated, “It’s two in the morning.”
“I thought I heard someone,” I lie.
Worry briefly flashes across her face before she sighs and shakes her head. “Three nights in a row?”
I look at her sheepishly. “I tried to be quiet.”
“That’s not the issue, Cass!” She lowers her voice. “Look, everybody’s fine. If you’re really concerned, your dad or I will check it out.”
“I needed to make sure everyone was okay. I couldn’t sleep.”
Her eyes soften, but her tone is firm. “You need rest, too. Go to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
She shuts the door, and I am once again alone with the shrieking wind and the ghosts of the creaking house. I reluctantly return the poker to its stand by the fireplace and gather my homework from the kitchen table. On the way back to my bedroom, I check the locks. I recheck them. I don’t look at the pictures hanging in the hallway, and I don’t stop in front of my little sister’s empty room. I hold my breath when I pass it, just like I do when we drive past the graveyard.
My family won’t be caught off guard again. I’ll make sure of it.