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Close to Home
“Again mom?!” I grunted under my breath.
Of course she would lock the door the one day I leave my keys at home. After six hours of boring lectures and irritating grief from the popular kids who normally wouldn’t give me the time of day, the last thing I want to do is climb through a window and possibly break my neck.
When I finally crashed onto the living room floor, I threw my back pack onto the couch and ran to the fridge. Like most days, I needed food immediately, when I came home. It’s not easy trying to eat your lunch in a tiny bathroom stall and I stopped trying a while ago.
I grabbed the box of left over pizza out of the fridge and scarfed it down, not bothering to heat it up. While I stood by the counter gobbling up the cold pizza, I saw a note my mom had left for me. In it, she explained that she was out for the night with my father and wouldn’t be home until later. Any normal kid would love having the house to their self, but it just reminded me of how lonely I really was. At the bottom of the note was a reminder to take my medicine. She wrote, “You know how you get when you don’t take it. We don’t want a repeat of last time do we?” She’s so over protective, I can’t take it. I tossed the note aside and thought about taking it later. I was way too lazy to go to the upstairs bathroom and rummage through the cabinets.
Satisfied, I threw the last piece of crust into the trash and dumped the empty box in the recycling bins out on the porch. I looked around the house pondering the possibilities of this crazy night ahead. I went against the option of going to bed early and decided to go all out and watch a movie.
I searched my cupboards for a bag of popcorn. A party isn’t crazy without popcorn. I slammed the microwave closed and watched the bag jump around inside until it stopped popping enough to take it out. I poured the contents into a big bowl and grabbed a can of soda. I took my party into the living room and plopped myself onto the couch for the night.
As I was flipped through the channels I stopped on the eight o’clock news. Ed Harding was talking about a killer who had been breaking into people’s homes and killing teenage girls. I wasn’t in the mood for creepy news stories, especially because I was alone, so I quickly changed it. After some more flipping, I finally settled on some chick flick.
Just as I was getting into the movie, I thought I heard a voice. Although I knew that was impossible, I started freaking out. It was probably only my imagination, but I had to look anyway. I fit right in with the age group that the news was describing, and my mind got the best of me.
I slowly got up from the couch, popcorn bowl in hand, and started walking towards the kitchen. I turned the corner of the living room and a masked man stepped out from the shadows with a large butcher knife hissing, “Wanna play a fun game of tag?”
I jumped and screamed at the top of my lungs, dumping the bowl of popcorn all over the floor. Panic took over as I realized what was going on. In his little game of tag, he was “it”, but if I was tagged, It wasn’t my turn next, I was be dead.
So many things were running through my head that I didn’t even realize the coffee table behind me. In my attempt to run from him, I fell right over it. My heart raced as I scrambled to get to my feet, the figure coming closer and closer. Adrenaline pumping, I pushed the table that had just thrown me to the ground into the little space between me and the masked murderer. He wasn’t as clumsy as I was and simply stepped over it.
I kept screaming like a helpless child, barely noticing the burning in my throat. Maybe if I screamed enough, he would take pity on me. I ran through my house, dodging the furniture making sure it didn’t get in the way as it had before. My heart was pumping out of my chest as I looked around for something to defend myself with. I ran to the drawers in the kitchen but everything had been taken out of them. My killer was smarter than I had thought. All I could find was a pathetic broom but I grabbed it anyways and reached for the cordless phone. I could hear the murderer’s footsteps coming closer and fear beyond my comprehension ran through my body increasing with each step he took. I ran around the corner and held my breath as I dialed the numbers 911.
A woman answered, but before I could inform her of the danger I was in, the phone flew from my hand and in its place was a deep bloody gash. The masked figure was less than two feet away and I had nowhere to run. I tried to shove the stupid broomstick into the killer’s face, but he easily snatched it up and threw it out of reach.
Helplessly I curled myself into a little ball and closed my eyes tight, holding onto the last few seconds I had. I peaked through my fingers to see my killer. He started to take off his mask and I realized immediately who it was. The arm holding the knife went in the air. I squeezed my eyes shut again trying to think of anything else but before my mind could wander, I heard a thud and it was over.
I woke up on the couch in a pool of sweat, covered in blankets instead of the blood I was expecting. Immediate relief passed over me as I realized it was just a crazy dream. I smiled a little and got up to change my damp clothes. As I passed the bathroom upstairs, I noticed a familiar mask sitting on the counter that was covering a bloody butcher knife. The relief that had just come over me vanished in an instant.
It seems as though I had tried to take my medication, but it was too late. I wonder who it was this time.