She'd nearly forgotten what her father said last night until now.
There's nothing for anyone to be afraid of.
But Carmen was afraid of the house, a towering two story residence glaring at her from every shady window. Afraid of the god awful picket fence enclosing her into the back, sun beaten lawn. Afraid of the premature evening falling faster than she would've liked. Most of all, Carmen was afraid of what she might find inside the very house she fled.
Her father could've been hurt. Could've suffered a stroke. Could've died. Yet, Carmen did nothing. Said nothing. She was petrified. Unmoving. Joints as stubborn as rusted hinges. Heart as erratic as a rabbit being hunted. And for what?
Because of a little creak that could've been a helpful indication that the house had aged. What harm did a groan of the floorboards mean anyway? That it had withstood years of baking in the summer, years of frosting in the winter?
Her unwillingness to move and the tears falling down her cheeks was enough to let her cowardice manifest.
Move Carmen, move.
Your father is in there.
She considered calling the police but, that would've meant going back inside that house.
What was she actually afraid of?
This time Carmen made a decision.
Dirt and grass stains appeared on her baby blue skirt, her hair had come loose out of the bun she'd wrapped it tightly in before going to school as she gathered herself from the ground. Ignoring the strands of hair catching in her eyes and sweeping across her cheekbones, she staggered towards the gate. Her hands reached out to unlock it. When she slipped through, her sneakered feet clapped against the asphalt. A set of clean white wooden steps descended six treads from the door to the house across the street. She climbed them by twos. Her fist rapped urgently against the solid plane of the entrance in four, hard resounding knocks that almost conveyed the rapid beat of her heart.
When she dreaded that no one would answer, the door swung open and the sickly sweet spices of holiday zest hit her nose.
A woman smiled. "Hello dear—"
"Please — Can I — can I use your telephone?" Carmen choked on a sob. "My… My father he's…"
She bent forward and coughed out the tears lodged in her throat. "Please… Please. His name is D-David Doe. He lives in the house over there. He's not okay. I came home and I found him on the floor and I think there might be someone in the house too, I just… God please…"
With knitted brows suspended over a tender gaze, the woman gently touched the girl's shoulder and ushered her into the warmth of her scented foyer.
Carmen let her.
"Hush sweetheart, it's fine I'll call for help. Wait here, alright?"
"Thank you. Thank you so much." As she watched the woman shuffle away, Carmen lingered near the edge of the front window of the living room.
"Yes hello, operator," the woman said distantly from the kitchen. "Can you dispatch an ambulance to residence 19 South Cherry Fir Lane. No, this is Regina… Regina Harber. I'm the neighbor from across the street. This girl… She claims to be David Doe's daughter — she says her father is in the house and he's not well…" There was a pause and her tone had hardened. "This is the Haddonfield police department, isn't it? If I wanted to call the damn hospital, I would've called the damn hospital, but the girl says there might be an intruder in the house… "
A cold tear rolled off her cheek as Carmen stared blankly out through the glass that showed the face of her father's home. A tall window on the first floor was covered in faded white curtains.
Even from this distance, Carmen saw the drapes swaying marginally as though someone had previously peeked through them.