Sam’s Journal of Survival

The Alarm

013026. This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author.

The Alarm

The alarm went off in the middle of the night.

There was no hesitation. No confusion. My body moved before my thoughts had time to scatter.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand. I took the gun from the drawer. The motions were clean, practiced, quiet.

Then I went into the closet.

The police call it holding in place. It means you do not investigate. You do not move through the house. You secure yourself and wait.

From the outside, the closet would not look like much. Just a door. Just a space.

What no one on the other side would know is that there are deadbolts on my side. That once I am in, I am locked in. That I am not exposed. That I am armed.

I stayed on the phone with the 919 operator the entire time.

Her voice was steady. She asked questions. She gave instructions. She did not rush me. She did not fill the quiet with unnecessary words.

I answered when needed. Otherwise, I listened.

Time moved strangely in that space. Not fast. Not slow. Measured. I focused on my breathing. On staying still. On staying aware.

The alarm company had already alerted the investigator.

He came too.

I did not know that in the moment. I found out later. But knowing now that he was on his way, that help was already moving toward me, matters more than I expected.

Eventually, the all-clear came.

The alarm had been triggered by something small. Something ordinary. A sensor doing exactly what it was designed to do.

Still, the system worked.

So did I.

I did not panic. I did not freeze. I followed the plan. I stayed where I was supposed to stay.

That is something I could not have done a year ago.

When it was over, my body shook. That came later. It always does.

But I was safe.

I had protected myself.

That matters.

Not because danger was proven, but because preparation was.

And last night, that was enough.