Chapter VIII - The Intruder

I woke up with a start.

Had I merely imagined it or was it a noise that had woken me? There was definitely a strange noise, but where was it coming from? Looking up from my book, I scanned the garden, sourcing out the origin of the sound. It was not really very loud, but it was certainly audible. I had always been a light sleeper, and I had only been snoozing, so it was no surprise that even the faintest rustling could wake me from my nap. That's what it was; a soft rustling, coming from the laurel hedge! I observed it for a moment. Something very strange was happening. The hedge was, in fact, moving, as if a giant beast were writhing inside.

It seemed to be opening up, each leaf being gently brushed aside one after the other by an invisible force. At first, I thought it was the wind that was creating the movement, but no -there was no wind. All was still, with exception of the hedge. In a matter of minutes, it had opened up in the shape of an arch, but that was not all it was. It seemed to be a doorway.

I must still be dreaming, I thought to myself as I stared at the magnificent archway which had been hollowed out of the greenery, opening up the view to the place that lay beyond it. As I focused on the hole in the hedge, all I could make out was a very grim-looking garden or field and what seemed to be a dim light in the distance, lighting up an upstairs window of quite a large estate.

It could be any number of places, only it was still daytime here, so why was there hardly any light on the other side of the hedge? I puzzled over this matter, but could come to no meaningful conclusion.

I continued staring at the hedge, not wanting to miss a single beat. And there, out of the blue, a figure appeared in the doorway, almost like a ghost or a mere shadow. Whatever it was, the figure was approaching the door. When it reached its destination, it stepped through, leaves rustling as it went. I jumped up in fright, my heart almost missing a beat. An intruder had just entered our garden and I was completely unarmed and helpless, too far from the back door to rush inside.

Attempting to stay calm, I tried to devise a plan. What to do when your home has been invaded by some strange alien? As far as I could tell, the person standing there in the distance did not seem to be anyone I knew. Squinting my eyes, I attempted to make out who had invaded our home and whether he or she posed any danger to me. Should I be arming myself with some sort of weapon? I tried to think on my feet. Which means of defence was closest at hand? There was a shovel lying next to our potted plants by the back door, but I was too far away to reach it. I would have to sprint over to fetch it if worst came to worst; and if I then succeeded in opening the back door, jumping inside and locking it, I would be safe. What an unlikely scenario. If I were to do it, now was the time. I looked over my shoulder hastily, attempting to estimate how my ill-devised plan could work, when I noticed that the figure was approaching me slowly but surely.

Eyes wide, rooted to the spot, I clung to my chair. I desperately felt the need to defend myself, but I could not move a muscle. This was private property, how dare this person invade my home?

It seemed to be a young woman who was now coming towards me. I took a closer look at her. She was carrying a bonnet in her left hand and a small brown bag in her right. She was dressed in a colourless, drab, old-fashioned looking dress and she was completely drenched. Her dress was soaked at the hems, her hair was damp and the bonnet she was holding was dripping with mood.

What on Earth had happened to her? Had she walked through a storm? She looked like someone from another time in any case, like she was perhaps part of a play. Maybe she was collecting money for the local theatre, but this seemed very unlikely considering the state of her clothes. And it would still not explain the eery way she had entered our garden; through an archway in the hedge, which seemed to have a life of its own.

Even if I ignored the opening in the hedge, it was unusual for actors from a play to make their rounds personally from house to house, especially if they were soaked from head to foot. So, who was this mysterious intruder and where had she come from? There was, of course, still the possibility that this was all a dream or that I was hallucinating, but these mysterious goings-on did not feel at all dreamlike. They felt all-too real. Never in my life have I dreamt this vividly or in such detail.

Intrigued, I watched as the girl assessed her surroundings in bewilderment. She hadn't seen me yet, but it wouldn't be long now until she noticed me. For the moment, she was too amazed, taking in our bed of roses and the raspberry plant Amelia had grown. The girl was glancing left and right, taking everything in.

I no longer felt the urge to flee and, as I looked her up and down, it dawned on me why she no longer seemed threatening. This girl looked so out of place and, in fact, just as surprised to find herself in my garden as I was to behold her there.

Not an alien, then. Not a ghost either. Maybe it wasn't a stranger after all. Maybe it had been a trick of the light and I had only imagined the door in the hedge. Maybe Amelia had decided to play a trick on me, but she would never be able to open up a hedge, surely.

Even if I tried to find a rational explanation, the girl could not possibly be Amelia. Even though I could imagine her to have decided to do some spur-of-the-moment gardening, it was clearly not her. For starters, why would she dress like she was from a different era? Plus, Amelia had left for Yoga about half an hour ago. So, she couldn't possibly be home yet.

No, this person wasn't anyone I knew. This was a stranger. A stranger, who was trespassing on our property. The question was, who was she and what the heck was she doing in our back garden?