A powerful tremor that kept growing in force

I spent the scariest 40 seconds of my life underneath a door jamb on Saturday morning. A massive wave of energy swept across the Plains to meet an immovable rock fortress (the Port Hills). I was on the other side, in my home in Governors Bay.

We woke suddenly about 4.35am to an awful booming sound and a fierce persistent shaking of our house.

In the three to four seconds that it took us to get out of bed and under the door jamb between our bed and the hallway - that's what you're supposed to do aren't you? - the noise grew to a thunderous roar. The house was shaking so violently that we could hardly keep our feet. We reached the door jamb and held on for dear life, too afraid to move , nothing visible in the pitch black darkness. The fight or flight response screamed "fly fools". But the fear factor dominated all.

I was terrified and disoriented after being woken suddenly from a deep sleep. But when the adrenalin kicked in the disorientation evaporated and I began to think . . . fast. Five seconds stretched to 10 seconds , then another 10. Meanwhile, the aggressive forces surrounding us increased in their fury.

My first thought was "it's not stopping". I expected the shaking to stop. I wanted it to stop. Quakes I'd been through in California in years gone by and in the mountains here in New Zealand roll through for a few seconds, sometimes with a short jolt, and then die out.

You breathe a sigh of relief, and get on with life. Not this one! It just kept on and on and on, increasing in power. It felt like a massive rock slide from the bluffs above was careening down on us, all around our house.

As the seconds ticked away, and the house neared the brink of exploding and imploding at the same time, new thoughts raced through my head: we're not going to survive this; the house can't possibly survive; I don't want to die just now, but there is nothing I can do about it.

An incredible feeling of vulnerability and helplessness swept over me. I didn't freak out at that for some reason, but just slipped into my next thought. Maybe, just maybe, we would be able to ride it out (this is getting on to about 20 seconds or so, halfway through, looking back now).

We were on the top floor, wall support directly below, only a roof and roofing materials above us, no major beams . . . maybe we would survive as the house slid down onto the garage below. I literally pictured all this happening as the seconds ticked away, and the drum roll beat of the house shaking reached a crescendo.

Later, I would compare the shaking to riding in the caboose of a runaway freight train, derailed and racing to destruction down a steep slope.

Within about five metres of our bedroom door there is an exit. I knew it was there. I knew how to get there. And I knew we should get outside asap.

But although I wanted to leave the shelter of that rattling, shaking door jamb, fear of even trying to move from the spot where we were to cross five metres of unknown, violently shaking terrain in the pitch black was just too much to bear.

Little did I know that if I had tried in the dark I would've been tripped up by remnants of a tall bookshelf that had spilled its innards across the floor. And if we had gone the other way, down the stairs to the front door, we would have run in our bare feet right over shards of broken glass from candlesticks that had shattered in their fall off the hall table.

As suddenly as it started, after 40 seconds or so (it seemed much longer than that at the time), it stopped. Grabbing clothes, coats and shoes, we ran downstairs and out the front door to the driveway, to safety. Our driveway on a cold winter's night was safe - our house was not.

I managed to get the garage door open and find a gas lantern.

With the light breaking the surrounding darkness, neighbours called out: "Are you OK? "Yes, we're fine, you?" "OK". Neighbours, checking on neighbours, in the pitch black of the night. The family directly below us and across the street came up to the lantern light (and warmth) to join us, two children in tow, both frightened out of their wits. But then, so was I.

We had some spare blankets for the kids - they were dressed only in their robes having scampered out of their house as quickly as they could. We waited, and talked, trying to comfort, reassure and console one another. Dawn came all too slowly, but ventured back into our houses. Our houses, our homes, had been stolen from us in the dead of night. Mother Nature? I don't think so. Nothing mothering about what we experienced! Rather, only raw, unchained, unstoppable natural forces - not to be revered, but feared. I am still afraid as I walk through our bedroom and hallway. We might have died there.

- © Fairfax NZ News