The only thing more unpleasant than my awful pounding headache is the heavy scent of copper in the air. Those awful rats must have found some wires to gnaw on again.

It’s a wonder how they’re still alive, I’ve used every type of trap, every sort of bait, and yet I’ve only caught four.

Turning around I reach out for my glass, making sure not to disturb Harper in the process.

Grabbing a hold of my cup, I lift it up to my lips but unfortunately, there’s no water in it to sate my thirst and relieve my headache.

I almost let out a groan but I stop myself just in time, if Harper wakes up this night will get so much worse.

Carefully sliding out from under the covers, I stand up, and immediately everything starts spinning.

Reaching out with my arms I steady myself against the wall, waiting for this temporary blindness to pass. Thankfully I don’t have to wait long as in a few seconds, my vision clears up enough for me to see again, not that there’s a lot to see.

The invasive pain still remains though and since there’s no way I can sleep with this awful headache, walking down the stairs to get some more water and a handful of painkillers seems to be my only option.

It’ll only take a few minutes but it’s enough to make me greatly regret not keeping a few of those beautiful pills up here and ensuring my glass was filled, I just want to sleep.

Groping around on the cabinet I pick up my phone but I must have done something to offend God because even after pressing down on the power button a couple of times it doesn’t turn on.

Hopefully, I’ve just forgotten to charge it since I really don’t have the spare money to fix it or get a new phone.

At least even without my phone's gentle light to guide me, I can still navigate my way to the door and make my way to the kitchen, it’s just going to take longer, that’s all.

Carefully tip-toeing over to the bedroom door, I gently open it, then slip out as quietly as possible.

It’s pitch black so I have to feel my way towards the hallway light switch and when I flick it on nothing happens.

I feel myself deflating a little, whatever wires those rats chewed through must have been connected to the lights.

The staircase isn’t that far away but still, why couldn’t Great Uncle Frederick have just put a bathroom on the second story?

If he did that I’d probably have stored the medicine box there and even if I didn’t at this point I’ll settle for just getting some water.

But because he didn’t do that I’m going to have to blindly make my way down some old, rickety stairs, without even a little bit of natural light to help guide me.

Honestly, if he was going to board up every window in the house what was the point of even having them?

Letting out a slight sigh, I walk towards the staircase, carefully tracing my path forward by keeping my hands pressed against the wall.

Once I place my foot down on nothing but air, I realize I’m at the staircase and slowly and carefully, I begin making my way down it with the speed of an elderly snail.

After traversing down the stairs for what feels like hours but is probably closer to a minute or two, I reach the bottom and that’s when I remember that I’ve forgotten to bring along my cup.

It completely slipped my mind, probably thanks to this bizarre headache, normally when I get them it’s just like needles being jabbed into my brain but this one is like a fog, a sharp, painful, fog.

Though I suppose it could also just be the lacklustre sleep I’ve had for the past few weeks that’s made me forget to bring along my cup. I mean at least it’s no big deal, I’ll just get a new one, I’m going into the kitchen anyway.

Reaching out I flick the nearby foyer light switch and while it does work and the room lights up, it’s a pale, sickly, light.

I let out a sigh before I even realise I’ve opened my mouth, it’s starting to become a bad habit of mine.

My wallet is going to take a huge hit from all the new traps I’m going to have to buy and I don’t even want to think about the cost of these damaged wires. I mean hopefully, it’s just the lights being finicky but oftentimes my optimism ends up being misplaced so who knows?

Somehow despite being able to see, I almost trip over the TV remote after just a few steps.

I regain my balance quickly but the sudden movement aggravates my already awful headache.

This time I don’t sigh, instead I let out a soft cuss.

At least I can look at the mementoes on the wall to distract myself and ignore most of the pain.

The flickering lights might not be very strong but they’re still bright enough to help illuminate the memento wall.

I can quite clearly see the photo of my Great Uncle Frederick holding up a Golden Mahseer which he caught over in Nepal, it’s hanging right next to the portrait of him staring solemnly at a fire.

The wall doesn’t just have his mementoes hanging up on it though, I’ve also put up a few of my own up there.

One of my more treasured ones is the photo of me skiing in Switzerland, with brilliant scenery and challenging slopes, it was one of the highlights of my travelling years.

My next favorite would have to be the one where I’m celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday, it was one of the rare moments when everyone in the family was able to show up.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I’m just about to reminisce on the photo where I won a small fortune in free ice cream when I hear a dull knock ring out from the front door.

It clears my foggy head even better than focusing on old memories and it also means I have enough sense of mind to notice the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

Just as I consider waiting for a few seconds to see if it was maybe my sleep-deprived imagination, the knocking echoes out again.There’s definitely someone at the door…

Pulling myself together, I try to avoid overthinking anything and start to move over to the front door.

As I get closer the knocking begins to pick up a rhythm, it’s starting to sound almost like a beating heart.

But whether it's a giant monster or a serial killer it doesn’t matter, there’s no way they’ll get through this door.

The windows might be heavily reinforced but this door is on another level, it was built at the height of my Great Uncle's paranoia and could probably withstand a small explosive.

Perhaps because of my ungodly headache, I stupidly say “Who is it?” before I can stop myself.

For a brief second, everything is silent as the rhythmic knocking ceases. Then the knocker replies “It’s me honey, your husband, open the door please?”

Oh, my husband's back?

Well, that’s quite comforting, maybe he can help get the lights working again? But why’s he outside?

“Honey, why are you outside?” I question.

“I got called out to fix some minor paperwork, don’t worry about it babe, just put the kettle on and I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Just before I reach forward to open the door I pause, the hair on the back of my neck is still standing up.

It’s probably needless but I still take a peek through the spyhole, eyeing up the man who claims to be my husband.

He certainly looks like him, five foot eleven, wheat blonde hair, with a ragged moustache and an easy smile on his face.

But something just doesn’t feel right, then it hits me that while there are photos of me graduating university, in various countries, or of me horseracing, there’s no photos of me getting married up on that wall.

I don’t have a husband…

I try to stifle the gasp brewing inside me but somehow he must have heard me or maybe he’s just getting impatient because while I’m trying to back away quietly, he continues to try to get me to open the door, saying things like “Let me in please?” and “Honey, I’m tired come on.”

I don’t pay any attention to it though, this person isn’t my husband, I don’t think I even have a boyfriend.

Just why is this madman showing up the moment I’m vulnerable? I'd prefer for this not to happen at all obviously but if it’s going to happen why can’t it just happen while I’m perfectly healthy and have a charged phone?

Well unluckily for this prick, guns are a great force equalizer, I don’t need to be anywhere near peak physical strength to shoot one at point-blank range.

Slipping into the garage, I hurriedly start to rummage around for the gun locker key.

It takes a lot of time and far too much effort but after nearly a full two minutes of blindly searching for the key while my self-proclaimed husband gets increasingly more agitated, I’ve found it.

Then after just a bit more fumbling around, I find the gun locker and open it, pulling out my Great Uncle's favourite gun, the Ruger American. I make sure to grab two boxes of ammo next to it as well, I’m not dumb enough to keep the gun loaded after all.

Now that I’ve got my gun, all I need is my phone and Harper. Then we can go hold up in the half-finished basement and we’ll be more than safe considering it’s actually more like a half-finished bunker.

Briefly, I consider loading the rifle but my fear of it discharging if I fall or bang it against something wins out.

And besides my hands are shaking so much that even carrying it is an issue, let alone having to load it.

I can still barely see but the adrenaline coursing through my veins ensures that any semblance of tiredness I once had has been purged from my system. Quickly walking towards the stairs, I make my way up them, ignoring the yelling of the psycho in the process.

In my haste, I misstep and almost fall over but luckily I’m able to press my arms against the walls to anchor myself in place.

Recovering from my shock I regain my balance and press on, just another few steps and then I’ll be done.

It’s honestly a relief once I reach the second floor but the loud banging that suddenly starts coming from the front door centers me instantaneously.

Panting, I grab at the bedroom door handle and yank it open, if Harper isn’t awake already because of that creep’s shouting and banging, then she will be now thanks to all the noise I’m making.

“Momm-” I cut her off with a hush before she could finish her sentence. Leaning the rifle against the wall I scoop her off the bed and plop her beside myself, before stretching over and grabbing at my phone on the cabinet. Finally having some good luck, I don’t end up knocking it off or groping at nothing for half a minute, instead, I easily grab it and slip it into my gown pocket.

Something just feels wrong.

It must be the fact I’m going towards the danger but I mean there’s no other choice.

Ushering Harper out of the bedroom I grab a hold of the rifle with both hands before exiting alongside her.

Before we can walk the few steps needed to get to the stairs though I realize what a bad parent I’m being, Harper should stay behind me where it’s safer, not in front of me.

Reaching out with one arm I grab ahold of her shoulder and pull her back behind me, making sure to pat her affectionately as I do so, no point in scaring her even more.

Taking the lead, I advance down the stairs, Harper trailing close behind. Luck continues to be on my side and I don’t so much as teeter on the stairs. Just as we reach the bottom and begin making our way into the living room and towards the basement, the man stops his shouting and banging. I slow down momentarily in surprise but then immediately Harper knocks into the back of me and I quickly start moving again.

We’re almost out of the living room and into the laundry room when the shouting starts back up but this time it’s more than one person that's yelling. It’s muffled due to the sheer level of reinforcement this house has gone through and my own racing heart but I can still make out certain sentences like “You’re in danger.”

Bastards, what sort of sick group goes around terrorising people? Stepping into the laundry room, I feel my way around the wall with my free hand until I find the basement door handle.

Swinging it wide open I gently pat Harper on the back and get her to go down the stairs, making sure to hold onto her as she does so, just in case she falls. Once we’re both at the bottom, I place my rifle on the ground and then shuffle back up the stairs to lock the basement door with its hatch.

It’s a simple way to lock the door but since there’s no key, there’s no way for anyone to lockpick their way inside and it’s even more reinforcement than the front door.

If the worse happens and it gets broken down as well, then I’ve got my rifle. Making my way back down the stairs Harper softly says “Mommy, can I play with the marbles?”

Of course, I say “Yes.”

It’s just some marbles, hopefully, it will keep her mind off things.

Now all I need to do is get the generator running and load the gun and we’ll be perf–

I haven’t turned the light on yet, so how can she see? Did she touch a marble or something?

But now that I’m thinking about it, there are no photos or mementoes up on that wall of me with a kid either…

There’s been no kid toys or anything else in the living room that a little girl might play with.

Shakily I reach up and feel the back of my neck, the hairs there are still standing firmly upright but that’s less of a cause for concern than the crusted blood I can feel.

No wonder I smelled copper when I woke up, it was my own blood. I think now's the time to load the gun and while I pray that I’m just overreacting, how is it possible that not only do I not remember my own ‘child’ but that’s also no toys?

The sound of marbles hitting each other accompanies my movements as I reach into my robe with trembling hands and slowly pull out one of the ammo boxes.

Carefully grabbing the rifle, I begin to try and load it but immediately I’m met with failure,

I can’t load it, why can’t I load it? My fingers don’t seem to be working and this damn headache won't let me think.

What the hell is wrong with me? I really need to pull myself together. While desperately pondering what to do next my ‘child’ speaks again “Mommy, I’m hungry”