Keys
Ingrid Barnes

I am running down the street. My feet beat the pavement, my breath hissing in and out. I stretch my legs as far as they can go, pushing, straining. My body is burning, but I have to go faster.

I glace behind me. A man is running down the pavement after me. He is smiling at me, and his arms reach out to embrace me. Terror pours down my forehead like sweat. I have to get away.

People on the street see me running and move to let me pass. Some people watch me as I run past, but most turn away as if I am not there. A few call out to me, encouraging me, but they do not stop the man.

I am almost there. I turn into the driveway, feet slapping, arms pumping. I run up the steps and fling open the door. My house. I pull the door closed behind me. Surely he can’t get in here, into my house. Surely I am safe here.

I hear the man’s feet on the steps. He calls out, thumping the door with his hand. He turns the knob back and forth. Through the window I watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a huge bunch of keys. He shakes them, then picks out one. He puts it to the lock, turns it, then he pushes the door open. His smiling face appears in the doorway.

I turn in terror and run through the house. I pass the lounge and the kitchen, then I run up the stairs. I run along the corridor, passing the bedrooms until I reach the last one. I push open the door and slam it behind me. My room. I double over, trying to catch my breath. Surely he can’t get in here, into my room. Surely I am safe here.

I hear heavy footsteps. My breath is screaming in my lungs. There is a pause, then there is a jangle of keys. The door whines sadly as the man pushes it open. I look around. There is nowhere to go.

But wait. I see that there is a small door in the wall behind me. I know that it is not possible for there to be a door, or a room there, but I turn the knob anyway. When the door opens, I dash inside. I push the door shut. This room that I am in, it is my own body. My own flesh. I know it so well. I can hear my blood beating all around me. My bones and muscles curve above me, holding me. Surely he can’t get in here, into my body. Surely I am safe in here.

The man is at the door now. I can feel his heat and excitement through the walls. He pushes at the door, but it does not give. Then I hear keys clinking against each other. The lock clicks and the doors swings open.

I stare, frozen in shock and terror. How can it be? How can he get in here. I turn in despair, and see one more door, even smaller. I throw myself towards it. This is the last door, I know. This is my last chance. I squeeze inside, into my own soul, into the very core of my being.

The man is already at the door. It shakes on its hinges, the knob spinning madly. I hear heavy breathing, and keys jingling. I begin to sob, tears trickling down my face. Surely he can’t get in here, into my soul. Surely I am safe in here . . .

Author’s Note: I wrote this piece after reading ‘I Never Told Anyone’, edited by Ellen Bass and Louise Thornton. This book moved me deeply, however I have never been sexually abused.
I believe that it is our sick society that has given the man the keys to the bodies of young girls.