Basically, it's a story about the fear you feel when you're doing something you know you shouldn't.
"Your mission . . . should you chose to accept it . . . is to infiltrate the private residence . . . of your parents . . . at four in the morning."
God, I'm such a rebel. Lorna dropped me off outside my house. It was absolutely freezing cold. The wind chill howled and bit my bare arms as I shivered. I stood for a moment in the harsh orange miasma of the streetlamp. Inhaling sharply, I steeled myself for a moment. No doubt if Mam and Dad caught me sneaking in at this ungodly hour, I'd be kilt stone dead. But I couldn't stay outside all night either. So I would have to get in without their knowledge.
I smiled at the absurdity of my predicament. I felt like an exotic femme fatale in a James Bond film, surreptitiously breeching the perimeter. The first obstacle I had to tackle was the black wrought-iron gate. It was locked, as was I. Now normally, clearing the gate is simply a matter of putting one foot on the crossbar and climbing over. But that's a lot harder to do when wearing a pair of sky-high blood red stilettos, and harder still when you're completely hammered. Not that I was going to be impaired by my inebriation. I scaled the gate, cracked paint and rust adhering to my palms, before collapsing in a most undignified heap on the flagstone steps on the other side. Embarrassed, I tugged at the hem of my short black skirt. I was glad the neighbours hadn't seen me. Or at least, I don't think they did. They'd never be up at this time of night, would they? I stood up. All was silent, excepting the wind whispering around my shoulders and dancing with my hair. Phase One complete.
My heels clicked on the path. I paused at the back door. Now for the hard part. If I was to pull this off successfully, I would have to be inconceivably cautious. I slid my hand into my bag, and withdrew my keys. They jangled a bit as I turned the key in the lock, and slowly pressed down on the handle. The door creaked as it swung open. I stepped inside, carefully, always carefully, and shut the door behind me.
I steadied myself against the wall and removed my shoes, reasoning that bare feet wouldn't betray me by clicking on the kitchen tiles. I listened. Excepting the dull hum of the fridge, the house was silent. The door to the hall was open. Guided by the dim moonlight falling in through the window, I padded across the room and into the dark hall. The soft carpet felt so pleasant underfoot. I could hear the sound of faint snoring coming from my parents room. I didn't want to bump into anything, so I groped about in the dark until I felt the bannister.
The staircase can be a nightmare to navigate silently, if you don't know the trick to it. I'll betcha you're just dying to know the trick now, aren't you? Well, I won't keep you in suspense. This is the trick. If you step on the middle of the step when climbing the staircase, it's going to creak. But if you step on the end of the step, where it meets the wall, it's not going to creak. I ascended the stairs with one hand against the wall and the other on the bannister. Placing one foot in front of the other, gently, quietly, slowly, I creeped up the stairs as silently as a mouse with a sore throat.
Finally, I reached the landing. I felt light headed, and the snoring was louder now. I took two steps towards my bedroom door, slightly ajar, and was about to slip in when the snoring stopped. Shocked, I froze. At the snoring restarted, so did my heart. I was certain I was caught.
I tiptoed into the room, spun silently. I felt my shoulders tense as the door creaked close. With a bit more confidence, I dropped my stillettoes on the floor, took my makeup off and changed into my pajamas. At last I slid into bed and snuggled up in my nice warm duvet.