Silent Nights

I wait until the figure is a few more steps away before slinking after it. The other person doesn’t change their slow, steady pace toward the front porch. With high, loping steps, I manage to get behind without making too much noise. I shift my flashlight to my left hand and carefully pull the knife from my belt. I take a few more steps; the figure is just a few feet from the porch. Not wanting to risk getting any closer, I raise the flashlight to shoulder height and flick it on, aiming the beam at the other’s head.

The sudden glare of the flashlight startles a little noise from the figure, a girl, as she spins around. She stumbles, unsteady on her feet, and brings up one hand to shield her eyes from the light. My eyes are more adjusted to the sudden light- since it’s not pointed in my face- so I decide to press my advantage before she acclimates as well. I take a step forward, and she stumbles back again, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Don’t scream,” I hiss, holding my knife out to the side in what I hope looks like a nonthreatening gesture. Now that I’m closer, I realize she’s not just short, she’s young. I’m not sure how I imagined she’d be anything other than a kid now that I see how little she is. I let the flashlight beam slide off her face, and she removes her hand from in front of her eyes. Her face, though lean from malnourishment, still holds some baby fat around her tear-streaked cheeks. She stares up at me, visibly trembling.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I offer, still not entirely sure she’s not going to start screaming. She’s still half-turned away from me, like she’s ready to bolt. I slowly slip my knife back into its sheath. Her eyes follow it, and only when my hand is once more held out to my side does she look at my face. For some reason her staring is making me uncomfortable. She’s looking at me expectantly, and I suddenly have no idea what to do next. I’d expected to be stopping an intruder, not a toddler. I glance up at the bedroom window and then back at the kid. She hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Do you want to go inside?” I ask. She stares at me long enough that I wonder if she knows how to talk. Then, suddenly, she nods. It’s such a small, timid movement, like she’s afraid to even move. I realize, with her gaze steady on me, not shifting to the surrounding darkness, that it’s me she’s terrified of. The thought makes me kind of nauseous. I swallow down the sick feeling in my throat and –not knowing what else to do- slowly hold my hand out to her.

“Come on.” She looks from my hand to my face before taking a step away from me. She shakes her head and her bottom lip starts trembling. “No no no, don’t start crying, please,” I plead. I take a step toward her and she backs up so quickly she falls over. Without thinking of her reaction, I close the distance between us and crouch down beside her. The little girl crosses one arm over her chest and curls into herself. Tears are streaming down her face now, and she’s making little gasping noises. It’s not very loud, but my eyes are drawn to the darkness around us, scanning for movement.

“Whoa, wait. Calm down. Just tell me what you want, okay? Please.” I hover over her, afraid touching her will just make her cry more, or worse, louder. The kid holds her breath for a second, before letting it out in a sob. When she keeps doing this, and the sobs become less frequent, I realize she’s actually trying to stop crying. I wait, still periodically scanning the area, until she’s finally breathing normally. She pushes herself up to a sitting position. I back up a bit to keep from crowding her, and I finally get a good look at her.

Now that I’m facing her head-on, I can see the arm that she’d previously kept out of my sight. As soon as she sees where I’m looking she crosses her arm over her chest again and clutches her shoulder, but her tiny hand can’t cover up the growing red stain.