The Intruder — a short story for English reading and speaking

Robert opened his eyes and stared into the face of a total stranger.

“Who are you?” he called out, pulling the bedcovers up to his chin. “What do you want?”

The man before him didn’t budge.

“I come to see you,” he said.

Robert could feel cold air coming off the man.

He wore a blue parka jacket, which was zipped up to his neck.

“I need to talk to you,” said the man in a whisper, leaning forward.

“Get out of here,” Robert called out. “This is my room. Get out.”

The man didn’t move an inch, just shook his head.

“It took me ages to find you. And now we have to talk.”

Robert assessed the man standing by his bed.

He wasn’t tall, but he looked big. He looked stocky, but that could be the parka he was wearing. It was hard to gauge exactly how big this man was, but none of that seemed to matter, as Robert was lying in bed dressed only in his underwear.

The man sighed and sat on the edge of Robert’s bed. The mattress heaved under his weight.

He pulled the zip of his jacket down a little and glanced around the room.

“So, this where you live?” he said.

Robert couldn’t quite believe the conversational tone the man was using. He raised his voice.

“You’re gonna have to get out and you’re gonna have to get out right now.”

Hopefully, one of the other lads he shared the house with would wake up. David lived in the room directly next to his own. Chris and Stuart in other parts of the house.

One of those small terrace houses with paper-thin walls, so one of the other guys must hear Robert and this stranger in his room.

The man shook his head and smiled down at Robert.

“We’ve got so much to talk about.”

“Like what?” said Robert. “I don’t even know you.”

The man leaned closer to Robert, placing a finger on his lips. Robert shuddered. The taste and smell of the man’s flesh metallic.

“Shhh… You’ll wake the neighbours,” said the man with a smirk.

Robert held his breath and stared back into the man’s eyes. They were the colour of freshly poured tarmac, wet and glistening.

But unfocused. Like he could not really see Robert.

“You need to go,” said Robert through clenched teeth.

The man sat erect again and unzipped his jacket, opening it.

Then he reached one hand inside and pulled out a machete.

“Get up,” he said. “Time for us both to leave.”

Robert closed his eyes for a full two seconds.

He willed the entire scene in front of him to be just a bad dream, something from his over-imaginative subconscious mind. Something he would wake up from and tell the lads the next day.

You won’t believe the dream I had last night.

The man yanked at the flimsy bedclothes and tossed them to the side of the bed.

Robert clenched his fists against his chest. His stomach muscles tight and his legs clamped together.

He had never felt so vulnerable.

The man’s expression changed to angry impatience.

“I said, get up.”

Robert found his voice. He thought it best to comply with this man.

“Alright, take it easy. I’m getting up.”

The man stood to allow Robert to swing his legs off the bed.

Robert got to his feet and faced the man. He found that he was easily eight or ten centimetres taller than this stranger before him.

But Robert was skinny at best. While this man was shaped like a rottweiler — short and squat.

This was totally irrelevant, as Robert was dressed in only a pair of shorts and the man facing him had a big knife in his hand.

“Let’s go outside,” said the man.

“Outside? What for?”

“Because that’s where it is.”

Robert shook his head. None of this made any sense.

“Where what is?”

The man blinked his eyes a few times like he had a headache.

“You ask too many questions. Now come on, let’s go.”

Robert didn’t budge.

This couldn’t be happening. There was no reasoning for it.

“I need my clothes.”

“No, you don’t,” said the man. “You don’t need nothing.”

“It’s freezing outside. I’ll catch a cold.”

Robert almost laughed at how ridiculous his statement sounded. He was being threatened — in his own room — by a man that had broken into the house carrying a machete.

And he was worried about catching a cold.

The man nudged him with his finger, shoving him in the shoulder. It felt hard and unyielding.

“Move.”

Robert half-turned, reluctant to have his back to the man. He kept his eyes on the silvery blade glistening in his hand.

He stepped out of his bedroom door and glanced over his shoulder towards the man.

“Can I put the light on?”

He said it as loud as he could to wake someone in the house — anyone — but not so loud that the man would suspect he was trying to be rescued.

The man nodded and Robert flicked the light on.

He went down the stairs, one hand on the bannister, the other sliding down the wall.

Any second, he expected to feel the man’s hand shove him from behind and force him to fall down the stairs.

But all he could hear was the man’s breath and the steady snoring of one of his housemates.

At the bottom of the stairs, the front door stood ajar. Cold air crept in and wrapped itself around Robert’s exposed legs and body.

A combination of fear and the icy breeze coming into the house made him shiver.

He realised that once he took one step outside; he was under the man’s control. That there would be very little he could do to escape.

Running in his bare feet didn’t seem like an option. And the ground would be glistening with ice.

He would slip and be on his back in no time. And the man would be right behind him.

Robert took another step to the door. Outside, it was pitch black.

Another shove in his back from behind and he was outside the door. The cold night air wrapped itself around him.

This was it. He would disappear and his family would never see him again.

His throat constricted, and he swallowed to try to get some air.

The man closed the door with a gentle click.

Then, from above, another sound. A window opening.

“Robert? What the hell are you doing? Who’s that with you?”

One of his housemates’ voices.

Robert turned to face the man.

The machete raised high above his head.