Do you ever feel like someone is watching you? That is what I felt throughout my entire senior year in college. I’d seen the same man with the limp in his long trench coat around campus, at the grocery store, and sometimes even outside of the campus. When I had first told my friends about him, they concluded I was just paranoid. They thought I was dramatic and crazy when I told them about the nightmares I’d had that terrorized me so much I woke up pulling the auburn strands of hair out of my head with sweat dripping across the side of my snow white face. Then came June 17th, summer after senior year.
The school year had recently come to an end, and there was the annual “Pass the Torch” party in the woods for the students. The students brought alcohol and partied all night. My friend Courtney and I needed to go to the bathroom, so we made our way along a trail to the porta potties.
“I need to go way more than you do, so I’m going first,” Courtney informed me. “Hey Hannah, why don’t you grab me another drink from the cooler while you’re at it?” she jabbered.
“I don’t think you need another if you want to get home safe tonight,” I protested.
Bending over the cooler to fish around for a water bottle, a sweaty palm secured my mouth shut so tightly that I couldn’t even make a muffled noise.
A raspy, deep voice whispered in my ear, “Try to run, make any sound, or pull any funny business and it will be the last thing you do.”
Although I could not speak or barely breathe, I cried ceaselessly. Tears flushed down my face like Niagara Falls as I thought of my family and believing I’d never see them again. The feeling was oppressive like when a boa constrictor finally has you wrapped around its finger and you no longer can control yourself. Your oxygen and energy are gone and it has won.
The person dragged me choppily across the dirt path in the woods to behind a dumpster in a pitch black parking lot. I imagined Courtney’s confusion when exiting the potty and not finding me there.
“She’s probably too drunk to care,” I thought.
My kidnapper had turned on a flashlight that revealed what gender he was. A male, looking like he was in his fifties. He thrusted me against the dumpster and tied my hands together, as if trying to cut off my circulation. Next, he pulled duct tape out of his coat pocket and sealed my mouth shut once again. I didn’t dare to try to scream. Not only was it impossible, but the party being a long trail away, no one would be able to hear me.
  Once he was satisfied with my constrictions, he trudged me over to his car. I noticed there was an unsteadiness to his walk, but didn’t have time for silly observations. I had to figure out what I was going to do.
Stealthily opening the trunk to his car, he violently shoved me in and threatened my life again. Just before the hood of the trunk closed and the light from the car shut off, my tear-filled eyes caught a glimpse of a beige coat and black buttons. I knew who it was.
Immediately I took out my phone and typed in 9-1-1. Right as I hit the “Call” button, my phone died. My stomach dropped, my throat closed, and I knew that if the tape weren’t on my mouth, my voice would break the next time I spoke.
In an attempt to free my mouth from the tape, I licked it and rubbed my tied fists on it which eventually caused it to fall off.
Although it was a blessing that I finally had air to breathe, the trunk smelled of rotting food and was as dirty as could be. I squirmed around for a bit looking for a cell phone or anything that could help me. Nothing was there. Then, it hit me.
I had remembered when Courtney’s sister would take she and I to the beach in the summer and in the middle backseat of her car was an armrest that you could move up and allow you access to the trunk. Fiercely I shot a look at where it would be in this car.
It was there! Without any thought but trying to find a way out, I opened the armrest indiscreetly. I made eye contact with my kidnapper, and the last thing I remembered was a shovel plunging towards my face.
Since I was out cold for a while, I lost track of how long I had been with him. Maybe two days? Three? My head was aching so much I couldn’t think. When I woke up, melancholy thoughts were running around in my brain about what my parents were doing and if they knew I was gone. The pain was so excruciating I had to close my eyes and rest for at least a little bit.
Suddenly, I felt the car come to a stop. I lunged forward which shook my head even more. I felt the vibration of his door shutting. Then, the click of the trunk opening.
“Where’d your tape go?” he questioned. I didn’t answer.
“Please let me go I want my family. Why are you doing this?” I pleaded.
“Shut up and don’t move I have to tape you again,” he declared.
Desperately I looked around for lights on nearby, hoping someone would see us, but it was dark and I couldn’t see anything.
“Come with me,” he snarled.
We walked for a while and I stumbled a few times, each time he’d scold me. Finally, we arrived.
“Where are we?” I questioned.
Leaving me unanswered, he started laughing hysterically.
A door creaked open.
“Get inside,” he grunted.
I stepped inside and a faint candle was burning on a table dressed with a floral cloth. He came in behind me, locked the door, and led me to the basement. Each step I took, a stair creaked. The man turned on a fluorescent flashlight at the bottom of the stairs.
Words couldn’t describe what I felt as I saw the rows of bookcases filled with jars of crawling tarantulas.
He opened a series of locks on a door in the back and opened it wide. My eyes bulged and I started to cry again as I saw my mom, dad, and sister tied to poles, beaten and unconscious.
No words or sounds could escape the adhesive tape enveloping my mouth.
The man rammed me into the room and I fell on the floor in a puddle of my own tears. The ground was stone cold and the smell was almost as foul as the trunk’s. Cheap and moldy wallpaper was peeled off the wall and strewn about the room. There were no windows. All that was in the room were four poles, a desk lamp, and my unconscious family.
“Don’t move a muscle,” he hissed as he left the room.
Once again, I licked off my tape. I knew he was gone when I heard the locks fasten and the creaking of the door.
“Mom, Dad, Josie!” I cried.
Yet to have all my strength back, I crawled over to them, cried, yelped their names, and shook them with my tied hands, trying to wake them up. They woke up periodically, took their tape off, and we talked for an hour, brainstorming what we could do to escape.
“The lamp!” Josie suggested.
My mom, dad, and I were utterly confused.
Josie elaborated, “Hannah will bring the lamp over and we can burn off the rope tied to our hands!”
As if my life depended on it, I went to the lamp as fast as I could. First, I took off my tape, then the others. Since we were all free from our restrictions, we planned what we were going to do next. We decided that we were going to remain poised at the door so that the next time he came in we could knock him out with the desk lamp.
Dad had the lamp raised and ready to strike in his hand. He was a quick and stealthy lion, ready to pounce on its prey. We heard the locks unlock and saw the knob slowly turn. The man didn’t even get one limp into the room before Dad knocked him out.
We watched and waited as he woke up in about forty-five minutes.
The look on his face was priceless as he sluggishly woke and found himself tied up surrounded by the jars.
“You’ve caused my family and I so much suffering,” my dad uttered, “and I have to say I’m a strong believer in eye for an eye justice.”
“We won’t go to the cops or tell anyone,” added my mom, “We’ll say we went on a last-minute vacation. And you will sit down here with no clean air, no light, no human interaction, and nothing to eat except for what’s in these jars.”
“Eat up,” I hissed with a smirk on my face as I shut and locked the door.