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The Best Ending Ever, Right?

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That day started out like any other normal Saturday. I had just arrived to my best friend Chris’ house, and we headed out into the backyard to hang out and play board games or something. I followed him out the back door. I closed the sliding glass door behind me, and noticed that Chris was already running across the small yard, climbing the ladder to the treehouse we’d built when we were 8.
“How old is this thing, six years old? Seven?” I laughed, following him up the side of the tree. The wooden ladder couldn’t hold our weight anymore, so we had to resort to using our climbing skills.
“I’d say eight years old. We built it for my eighth birthday.” Chris said, climbing onto the top ‘floor’ of the treehouse.
“And your sixteenth birthday was only a couple weeks ago-” I stopped, looking down. I wasn’t scared of heights before last year, and I’m not quite sure what had changed, but for some reason, my breath stopped whenever I was more than two feet off the ground.
“Come sit down,” Chris said, patting the branch beside the one he was sitting on. Once his father had given him a switchblade on his tenth birthday, he had used it to gradually carve seats into the large trunk of the tree. Of course, it grew faster than he could carve, so they were always a little uncomfortable, but at least it was better than straddling the branch. Especially for Chris.
I sat in the tiny, makeshift chair, and glanced out at the tiny yard. My eyes grazed the quiet area, and was about to speak, when a gleam caught my eye. I peered harder, but it went away. But when I looked back to Chris, I could see it out of the corner of my eye. I sighed inwardly, and figured it was just a coin or something. But, my curiosity got the better of me. I hopped down from the treehouse, my feet meeting the familiar ground. I made my way towards the gleam, ignoring Chris’ questions. For some reason, I couldn’t respond. I was just too interested in the strange glow.
Once I reached the spot on the ground, I got down on my hands and knees, and began rustling my hands throughout the damp grass. I noticed Chris come up behind me, but I kept searching. I felt my hand brush against something cold. It sent a shock through me, and I grabbed the piece of steel that I had found. I tried to pull at it, but it remained seemingly attached to the ground. I began pulling the grass around it out of the ground to get a better view, and eventually uncovered what resembled a door . . .
“Let’s check it out,” Chris said behind me, but I was already doing so.
The iron door didn’t open when I tried to pull alone, but when Chris decided to help me, it creaked open slowly. We sucked in a breath as we walked down the stairs that extended from the ground and into the dark. We walked down the stairs, me first. I insisted, regardless of his pleads to let him go first. “For your safety,” he pleaded.
I made my way to the bottom of the stairs before getting the brilliant idea to take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. I blinked a couple times at the sudden light, but once my eyes had gotten used to the brightness, I wished I would’ve never turned on the light. I could hear Chris yelling behind me, but it was almost distorted, like my head was submerged in water.
There was blood everywhere. Covering the small table in the corner. Splattered on the walls. Coating the table in the middle of the room. A stand was beside the table, with blood stained and dripping scalpels, sharp knives, blunt knives, and even a huge needle. There were larger tools that were also blood stained hanging on the wall behind the table, which I knew were used to do something I didn’t want to be a part of.
It was like I was in a dream. I wanted to leave, to run up those stairs screaming for help, to get as far away from that place as possible and never come back. But I couldn’t.
I turned to look at the stairs, and Chris was gone. The door was shut. And I was left completely alone. My flashlight was my only friend.
I shuffled to corner in the room, every footstep taking a thousand years. I stood with my back against the wall, my breathing erratic. I prayed to God, ‘Please, let this be a dream. If it’s not, please let this be a sick joke. Please have Chris come back down those stairs and tell me everything’s okay. That I can leave. That nothing bad is going to happen--’
The door opened. A figure appeared. He began making his way down the stairs, and my heart dropped as I realized; it wasn’t Chris.
Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard screaming. It wasn’t until they walked closer that I realized it was coming from me. The person had a mask, and ironically, right as I was beginning to form a plan of escape, the worst thing happens.
My phone died.
Then, a sharp pain in my side, a head-bursting throb. Then, darkness greeted me like an old friend. 




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