It’s a small town.  There’s nothing too exciting about it and there has never been problem with serious crime or safety issues, and it’s usually a pleasant, inviting place.  It’s a late Saturday evening and night is falling.  The evening traffic of Main Street has dwindled away as people are returning home and settling down for the night.  A rusty 1967 impala slowly trails down the street and turns left at the local supermarket.  It makes its way unsteadily down the gloomy street, stirring the little birds and rodents that hide in the shadows.  It takes a right into a church parking lot and comes to a halt.  The engine stops and the headlights go out.  It lies in wait, silently, scheming.
Amanda gets ready to leave and go to her friend Hailey’s house.  They enjoy their time together and do what they always do.
It’s a typical Saturday night.  I make my way to my best friend’s house like I always do.  She lives two streets down from me and I usually walk there every weekend if I’m not busy.  I’m never scared or worried about walking there at night; I’m so used to it and I could walk there with my eyes closed.  I stroll through her front door and head to her room.  She’s sitting on her bed, watching a movie.  I set down my things and come join her.  We watch movies, talk about our problems, and laugh at how stupid we are.
I usually just spend the night at her house or sometimes the whole weekend, but tonight at around 10 o’clock, my mom calls.  She tells me to come home so I can help her prepare dinner for my grandparents tomorrow.  Annoyed, I let Hailey know and sluggishly sit up and rub my eyes.  I gather my backpack and sweatshirt and start to head down the stairs and out the door. 
By this time, it is quite dark outside, however I do not have a sense of fear, but instead a sense of peace and calmness as I make my way down the familiar streets I have roamed so very many times.  I’m not a person who thinks of all the things I should be afraid of, but instead what my task at hand is and the simplicity of my short journey.  I’m not a person who’s afraid of the dark; who’s afraid of what might be out there or what might be watching me.  Not only that, but I am so aware of my surroundings, even though I can barely see ahead of me.  I know this town so well, especially this little slice of it; this little neighborhood.  I know all the people; every little bend and curve.  It is such a calm, soothing environment for me and I enjoy the beauty of the cool, summer night breeze. 
As I round the corner onto my street, I head past the cemetery bordering the old catholic church and I catch a whiff of something out of the ordinary.  It smells of old fuel and rusted metal.  I stop for a second and gaze around, searching for the source of the foul odor even though I know I can’t see anything. 
Just then, I hear a muffled sound of something moving and the crack of a car door.  I feel a chill creep down my spine and I my eyes search frantically all around me.  I start to hear the faint sound of footsteps, but I’m too startled to make out which way they are coming from.  I contemplate which way to go as the familiarity of my neighborhood rapidly disappears.  I jolt back to reality as the sound of the footsteps approaches from behind me.  I break into a sprint, with no sense of direction, but I do not care where I’m going.  The once quiet, creeping footsteps behind me start to break into a run as well.  I continue to run as fast as I possibly can; the fastest I think I have run in my entire life, but I don’t know how much longer I can last.  The power of my fear encourages me to keep moving, although I can feel my lungs start to ache and scream for air.  The pounding of the feet behind me is still near.  My heart feels as if it’s going to burst out of my chest and I start to feel light-headed as I become short of air.  I can feel myself slowing down and it’s obvious that whoever is behind me is slowing down as well, but still considerably physically fit.  I don’t think I can endure anymore.  I feel myself losing consciousness, but I just can’t force myself to stop; I feel like I can’t control my body.  Suddenly, my legs crumple beneath me and I collapse to the ground.  Barely conscious, I can still feel the hands grasp around my waist and legs as I am being carried away.
I jolt awake.  I try to scream, but no sound comes out.  There is a thick piece of duct tape securely plastered to my face.  My eyes flicker around this gloomy, musty room I am in.  I notice that my wrists are tied tightly to a bed post with a heavy-duty rope.  My ankles are also bound together.  Reality starts to hit me.  I begin trying to process the events that occurred just a few hours earlier.  I realize that it is daylight now—I can see light seeping through the curtains of a window above me.  I think about how, what seems like just moments ago, I was at my best friend’s house; enjoying our favorite movie and talking about food.  I begin to cry in helplessness; in fear of all the possible scenarios racing through my head. 
I fall silent and quit my sobbing and whimpering as I hear footsteps approaching the door to the room.  I close my eyes, waiting for the door handle to move.  The footsteps stop.  I open my right eye to check the door.  It’s still closed.  I feel my heart begin to beat faster and my breaths turn into quick little sniffles through my nose.  It seems like an eternity before I hear the door knob begin to twist.  The door slowly creeks open, but I cannot bring myself to open my eyes.  I feel the sweat trickling down my forehead and back.  My head is spinning and I can’t think straight.  I cry, silently, hopelessly, desperately struggling in an attempt to move my mouth and express the collection of overwhelming emotions that have built up inside me.  Time seems to stop as I hear the finishing screeches of the timeworn hinges of the door, opening wider and wider.  The heavy, sluggish footsteps move closer to me.  They stop.  I force myself to keep my eyes closed as I imagine what this horrible being may look like.  There is an unnerving silence and I feel his eyes burning through me.
Finally, he spoke.  “I’ve waited long enough for you.”  His voice was deep and rough.  It didn’t sound friendly, yet in a way, it relaxed me, as if he wouldn’t be as terrible as I thought he would be.  I bring myself to open my eyes and I see before me short, skinny, old man.  He looks filthy and unkempt and is wearing a faded checkered flannel and stained, torn jeans along with large work boots.   He doesn’t carry anything in his hands—no weapons or anything I would see as a threat.  His face is heavily wrinkled and his long hair and beard are tinged with gray.  He almost reminds me of a raggedy Santa Clause, which also soothed me a bit. 
“I’ve searched long and hard, waiting for someone like you, but this ol’ small town ain’t got hardly anybody,” he grumbles.  “It may be a small town, but nobody knows who I am.  Most people don’t even think anyone lives in this worn down shack.  I’ve got nobody.  I’ve got nothing.  Nobody would ever be acceptin’ of me, so that’s why I keep to myself.  My whole family died in a house fire except me.  I was the only one who survived.  I traveled here years ago and found this old little place, secure in the woods with no one livin’ in it.  I was lucky to find it, but I was lonely.  I figured since no one’s ever gonna come to me, I have to go out and find someone myself.  I seen you walking down those streets hundreds of times waited for the right time I could capture ya with no one noticing.  You don’t understand the loneliness I feel; how much this means to me.  I just want someone I can talk to; someone that can help me.”  He bends down and rips the tape away from my mouth and I can feel my face tingling and burning.
My fear quickly turns to anger.  “You will not take me away from my family and force me to do what you say, keeping me hostage here.  I don’t care that you want a little friend and someone to do all your dirty work.  My mom is probably worried sick about me right now and here you are, telling me I’m going to stay with you for the rest of your life and talk to you and ‘help’ you?  You untie me right now and take me back to where you found me,” I retort.
“Well I guess you don’t have a choice now.  I told you how it is and I was hoping you would try to enjoy your time with me as well, but maybe you will learn to change your thoughts.  Now, I’ve been cookin’ up some dinner.  I’ll be back in a minute.”
I knew what I had to do.  I started to plan my escape, hoping that by tonight I would be able to carry it out.  A few moments later, the man walks back into the room and places a disgusting bowl of slop in front of me, which I’m assuming is some kind of soup or something, although I am too hungry not to eat it.  He unties the rope from my wrists so I am able to eat it and I shove the slimy, bitter contents of the bowl in my mouth.  I finish it within a few bites and cringe at the horrible taste that is left in my mouth.
“Tomorrow I will show you how days are run around here,” he says as he wraps the rope around my wrists again.  “I’ll show you the things we’ll being doing daily and we’ll begin our new lives together.”  He pauses for a second.  “Also, I forgot to ask you what your name is.”
I don’t reply and turn my head the other way from him and stare at the wall.  I struggle to keep my mouth closed against the rage that wells up inside of me from the words he just spoke.  I could hardly believe that a person could be so ignorant and psychotic. 
He bends down and places a piece of duct tape across my mouth again.  He then collects the dirty dishes and tells me a brief goodnight, then he heads out the door and locks it. 
The hours go by slowly and I pay attention to the light through the curtains that gradually dims as daylight is fading.  I wait for what seems like an hour and I begin to carry out my plan.  I notice that the rope around my wrist is not tied as painfully tight as it was before, so all I can hope to do is wriggle my wrists wildly in an attempt to loosen them even more so I can escape them.  I begin to move my wrists viciously and nothing seems to do the trick.  My arms grow tired.  No.  I will not give up.  I continue this process and after what seems like hours, I can start to feel the rope loosening—not very much but it gives me hope.  Still, I persist.  My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.  As I loosen it a little more, I try to free my hands, but I can’t quite pull it through.  Still, I don’t stop, but I know I am running out of time.  My wrists burn from the rope scraping against them so much.  I continue to wildly thrash them back and forth since I have no other ideas. 
I gasp when I am able to pull one of my hands halfway through the strands.  I jerk my arm to move it further and I feel relieved as my wrist moves further and further through.  With one final jerk, my hand comes out fast and hits the bottom of the bed frame.  I slip my other wrist through the rope and quickly begin untying the rope around my ankles.  The man also did not tie this knot extremely tight, so it doesn’t take me very long to undo it.  I look down at my wrists.  I can see the burns from the rope and some of my skin is peeling, but there is no time to waste. 
I notice a chair sitting across from the bed and seize it.  I wind up to throw it against the window.  I know that it will most likely make a loud noise, so I am prepared to run.  With one single blow, it shatters.  Glass flies everywhere, but I manage to be standing far enough back to miss the little shards.  I set the chair in front of the window and step onto it.  I begin to climb out the window, but there are shards all over the windowsill.  Still, my determination pushes me through.  I put my hand on the frame and lift my leg to step on it.  I hear a door slam from within the house and I can feel the glass slice my skin and begin dripping with blood, but I cannot let the pain distract me.  I then lift my other leg to the sill and jump the three feet to the ground. 
I break into a run immediately, not caring what the old man might do when he finds that I’ve escaped; not caring where I’m headed.  I don’t even consider that the man might try to return and kidnap me again. 
I notice a cornfield to my left and run towards it.  I begin feeling the pain in my chest again as I become tired and short of breath, but I still force myself to continue with determination.  It doesn’t seem like much longer and I break through the other end of the cornfield and come to a road.  I stop and rest for a minute.  I then take a look around me.  I know this place.  I am near the public schools and I know my way home from here.  I start to run again and reach Main Street.  I still can’t see very well since it is not quite dawn, but I keep running toward my house in nervousness and fear. 
Eventually, I reach my friend’s street and take another rest, but not for very long, for I am paranoid that something is hiding in the shadows and will come out and capture me again.   Finally, I break into one last run.  I quickly round the corner to my street and make it to my front door within minutes.  I grab the house key from under the doormat and shove it in the keyhole.  I realize how loud and clumsy I am being right now and I know that my family is still sleeping.  I silently open the door and kick my shoes off.  I tiptoe to my room and throw myself into my bed, not bothering to wash off the cuts on my hand or change out of my dirty clothes.  I close my eyes, and know that I will have a lot of explaining to do in the morning, but everything that just happened becomes a blur and I am consumed by my comfortable blankets.  I relish in the feeling of being in my own bed again and fall asleep within seconds.