The Visitor with post 8

[Foxy Lady]

I was unsettled, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

It was a bit like after the divorce. That was a scary time for me, although in the end nothing happened. Except in my head, which is where scary things happen. But I was over that, long ago now. So long that I had begun to think that maybe I could let a man into my life again. Maybe even make a bit of an effort to find one.

Yes, it was a bit like the divorce, but not quite. The worst thing was that I couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was. There was something, though. And whatever it was, it was unsettling me.

And that was, well, unsettling.

 

[Foxy Lady]

I was being silly last night. Just one of those things. Women's things probably, hormones and whatever else make me feel weird.

Things look different in the cold, clear light of day. I need to get a life, start enjoying myself.

Which is when fate lends a hand. I open a drawer, the wrong one as it happens, but like I said fate is working its wicked way here. I've not been in this drawer for ages, but as it happens, right on the top, is my vibrator. The one I used to use as a top up when I was married. That I used more and more often as our relationship went down hill. I pick it up, feel the weight in my hand – it's one of those big, white ones that look like a microphone. Press the switch, hear the hum, feel the throb.

Thank you, fate, thank you kindly. Yes, it has been a long time, too long, way too long.

So I strip off, slip into my fluffy bathrobe and settle down on the bed for some me-time. And pretty soon, this girl is rocking. No need for porn, no need for those fantasies that I used to play out in my head to juice things up a bit. No, there's five years' worth of missed orgasms building up here, ready for the tsunami of a lifetime when I blow. I'm close, so close it is painful. I open my mouth to begin a long, loud scream.

And then I stop.

I switch off the vib and drop it.

I sit up, shaking.

I've just remembered the last time I used it – the last time I tried to use it.

I had been close, close as I was just now, that must have been what triggered the memory.

Which was when the battery died.

I threw it across the room, cursing it, and got to work with my fingers, but I had lost the rhythm.

And that was when I dumped it in the drawer, never to pick it up again, never to replace the batteries.

So how come it was working now, on full power?

Someone had changed the battery.

 

[Foxy Lady]

The next day I was still bothered. OK worried and still frustrated. After being so close to orgasm after so long and to be denied it.

I tried to rationalise it, reason it out, because that's what I am like. It had been a long time ago that I threw the vibrator across the bedroom and then tossed it into the drawer. Maybe my memory was at fault. Or what if I had replaced the batteries later, like on autopilot after a shopping trip and it just never registered in my memory, like you can't remember whether you switched a light off, when you always do out of habit?

It had to be something like that. Why would anyone change the batteries? Why would anyone think to check.

Shit, what if someone had tried to use it? That's scary, I mean using another woman's vibrator, something that personal, intimate. I'd never do that.

No, let's stay sensible here. They wouldn't know I was about to use it, how would they? No. No one could anticipate. After all, no one would put in fresh batteries unless they thought I would be using it. But if someone changed the batteries, it was because they had checked and found they were dead. So why would they then think I was likely to use it? No, this didn't make sense.

But what if? Damn, why won't my mind let me stop when I have this all sorted out as nothing to worry about? Suppose it was just that I happened to notice the vibrator batteries. Suppose I would have found new batteries if I had tried something else. Or suppose I found the washing detergent had been topped up or a new box of tampons or … or …

Which made me rush home to check. Checking would set my mind at rest. I would then believe, finally, that this was just me forgetting about putting in new batteries.

Right?

 

[Foxy Lady]

I'm sitting at my kitchen table - feeling sick.

Everything I checked is newly stocked. Everything in the kitchen, everything in the bathroom. Everything in my wardrobe where I keep things I don't want anyone to come across by accident – use your imagination.

It had all be changed. Whoever did this, it must have cost them a small fortune. And how did they get in? no one has a spare key. And how did they know where the more personal stuff was? Maybe the wardrobe is where everyone puts that stuff. But they had to have visited twice at least – once to check out by brands, and once to replace everything.

Well, the solution is obvious. Window bolts and new locks. Locksmith booked, simple. Problem solved.

A week later and I am happy. The locksmith has been, bolts and locks installed. The guy realised something was amiss and suggested maybe a lock on my bedroom door. He offered it at cost, so I accepted.

I'm still worried though. I mean, who would do this? Someone I know, it has to be, it can hardly be someone random going to all this bother because they spotted me in the street. And if I don't know them, I must have come across them, somehow, somewhere.

Just a thought – it came to me on the bus to work – maybe this isn't malign. Just someone restocking me, as a surprise. Surely they would have realised that I might be frightened by it, worried at least. But people don't always think things through the way I do. Anyway, it doesn't matter now that my home is secure.

Just another thought – it came to me on the bus back home – suppose there is more. Like cameras around my home, watching me, everywhere.

I run from the bus to my home, fumble with the new locks, lower the blinds, pull the curtains, and walk around, looking for a light, cameras have a light when activated, don't they? Then I do round with a torch, searching everywhere there might be a camera. Nothing.

Phew. What a relief.

Unless they found a spot that I haven't thought of.

That night I undress in the dark, go to the washroom in the dark. There could be low vision cameras, but darkness will give me some privacy.

I need to check whether these cameras give off a signal, one that can be detected.

 

[Foxy Lady]

After hours of Googling, I have a list of things to try. I began with the simplest – put the lights out and look for any sign of light. Searched everywhere I could think of and more places besides. Looked at some of the phone tricks – like check for wifi sources that may disclose a transmission. Next morning, I rang a special firm and talked my problem through with a guy who said I had done everything that would catch all but the most sophisticated camera surveillance. "It's got to be an amateur," he concluded, "you don't have government secrets do you?"

Reality set in, reinforced by his quote for checking out my house. I relaxed and concentrated on work. I got back, let myself into my newly secured, safe fortress and felt safe, at last. Mid-evening, I passed through my bedroom and froze. There was a stocking, just poking out of a drawer.

I sank onto the bed shivering. Someone was still able to get in here despite the security. How the hell? They couldn't have keys and know the passcodes. And then I imagined them sifting through my clothes, my underwear, touching, rubbing it over themselves. I felt sick. I piled every piece of lingerie I possessed into the washing machine and set it running . Then I had a thought. Not a good thought exactly, but one with hope. Whoever it was, they were getting careless. And that meant there was a chance of leaving a clue, of me finding out who they were. With that thought in my head, I finally fell asleep.

It was 3:08 on the clock when I woke.

I reached out for the switch to my bedside light and knocked my glass of water onto the rug. Damn.

Sitting up in bed now, I dredged out of my brain the thought that had been forming as I slept. Forming and frightening me.

Suppose, just suppose, that I was wrong about the intruder. Not about there being one, no I was quite convinced of that by now. No, suppose I had been wrong about them becoming careless. Suppose they had deliberately left things so I would know that someone had been in my home and gone through my things. Just theoretically, what would that mean? It would mean that wanted to scare me.

Well, if that was their intention, they had succeeded. Right now, I was scared.

Putting on window bolts and changing the locks had not kept them out and they wanted me to know it.

There was no way I would get back to sleep, so I got up and went downstairs, to find all the washing had been removed from my machine and hung out around the kitchen.

 

[Foxy Lady]

When my body stopped shaking, my mind started working.

Mission = check every means of entry and exit - locks, bolts, chains.

Mission complete = all intact.

Result = panic.

The windows were secured by bolts that only work from inside. They can't be opened or closed from outside.

The doors have locks that work from both sides, but chains and bolts, neither of which are accessible from outside.

That means only one thing = my intruder was still in the house, with me.

AND since the bolts and chains were all in place from the moment I came home, that means the person has been in the house all the time.

 

[Foxy Lady]

I needed to stay calm, think clearly, act decisively.

They were here, somewhere, so I needed to search the house methodically.

I had to start somewhere, so I began here, in the kitchen. There was nowhere to hide. Plenty of cupboards, but they were all full. I checked them just in case, but no, I was right, no space.

Next the sitting room. Again, pretty much nowhere to hide. Flicked my eyes around, moved the curtains. No one.

That was when I heard the noise. It had to be from upstairs, above my head, in my bedroom.

Now I realised - I needed something to protect myself. Nothing in here, so back to the kitchen.

First thoughts was the knives, but no, I don't want to kill anyone. Second thought, better thought, a heavy pan.

So I creep up the stairs, careful to avoid the one with the creak, fifth from the bottom.

Stayed close to the wall and pushed open my bedroom door.

As the noise of the door crashing into the wall subsided, I heard another noise.

The front door. I ran to the top of the stairs, to see the door wide open, the chain still swinging. I ran to my bedroom to look from the window. No one in sight.

At least, they had gone. Or had they? Was this just a ruse and they were still lurking.

 

[Foxy Lady]

I locked and chained the door, went back to the kitchen, returning to the hallway with a knife. There I slid down to the floor, my back against the wall, listening for the slightest sound to indicate someone was in the house with me. All I heard was my own breathing. Still I sat as the light began to fade. I don't know when it happened, but I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, it was pitch dark outside. My legs were aching, my back too, and especially my neck. I almost laughed at myself for getting into such a state. There was a logical explanation for everything that was happening, there had to be, something simple. I had convinced myself that that must be so when I heard the noise. I was so used to it that I did not notice it at first. Then I realised, it was the shower, and I had not turned it on. Someone was running the shower. At least, it would cover the sound of my approach as I crept up the stairs, avoiding the one that creaked. The knife was in my hand.

 

[Foxy Lady]

The door of the shower was steamed up. I approached slowly, knife at the ready. Ready for what? I wasn't sure. Would I really dare to stab someone? Would I have to? Was it wise to trap them? Shouldn't I allow them a chance to escape?

I threw back the door and stared at the pile of underwear, now soaked in warm water. No sign of anyone, but someone had to put my clothes in there and someone had to turn on the water.

I was still thinking when it happened.

One hand grabbed my wrist, twisted, I screamed and dropped the knife.

The other hand pushed me forward into the shower and closed the door.

Now I was trapped and they had the knife.