There was a crash, as if someone had flung themselves at the outside of my sixth floor bedroom window. Wide awake and unable to make sense of the noise, I thought about someone being on the balcony, like the time that man climbed up the drain pipe to the second floor balcony, as Chris and I sat in the van, waiting for a key to move my stuff in. Laying still, hyper alert, every noise became an invader. I waited, staring in the direction of my bedroom door. Had the light changed under the door? No. Was that noise someone moving about in my lounge? Not sure. My hand groped in the dark for my pyjamas and I put them on. Time to meet the confrontation, if there was to be one, head on, rather than wait indefinitely for something unpleasant to happen to me.

Strangely calm, I tiptoed to the lounge door. The baseball bat felt sturdy in my hand; rarely used, it was ready to swing into action to save me from the unknown attacker. Dark shapes were visible through the glass door of the lounge although nothing moved. Very quietly I pressed the handle down and pushed the door just wide enough to reach the light switch. My hand snaked through the opening, flicked on the light and pushed the door wide open. No-one was there. I strode across the room and waggled the balcony door handle. It barely moved. The door was locked. All the other rooms proved empty too. Satisfied, I rested the baseball bat against my bedside locker, climbed back into bed and lay in the glow of the bedside lamp.


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