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It sounded like violin music and it was coming from the basement. I crept around the corner and into the living room, holding only my baseball bat. The staircase was dark and the music was getting louder as I crept closer to the stairs.
"Reagan?" I called out to the world downstairs. Reagan, my older sister would play in the mornings everyday, so it was confusing to me when I heard the eerie sounds of orchestral music coming from her 'studio'; it was midnight. Each of the stairs creaked as I stepped on them.
"Reagan?" I called again. I could've sworn Reagan had left for work hours ago, but she had complained at the dinner table about not feeling well.
As I set my foot down on the last stair, the lights shut themselves off and the violin music was suddenly silent. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and turned the brightness up, then shined it around the seemingly empty room.
"Reagan, this isn't funny," I said, my voice shaking a bit. I looked to the side of me and saw the light switch. When I flipped it up, nothing happened, so I flipped it a few more times. I sighed and clung to my bat, then crept into the studio and fished around for the lights in there. When they didn't turn on either, I sighed and irritatedly called, "Goodnight, Reagan."
As I was walking back towards the stairs, my phone lit up and said Reagan was calling me.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"You're still up, good. I'll be home around five this morning. Working later so Chelsea can go home and check on her mom."
"I thought you said you were sick," I asked, confused, then turned to look at the studio where seconds ago, I had heard the eerie tones of a violin.
"Yeah, I'm good now. Slept after dinner, I left while you were showering. Why is your voice shaking?" Reagan asked.
I ran quickly up the stairs. "There's someone in our house," I whispered.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I heard a blood-curdling scream come from downstairs.
"I have to go now, Reagan," I whispered frantically.
And then the lights came on. Still clinging to my bat, I snuck into my mom and dad's room and locked the door. I dialed Reagan's number again and the phone went to voicemail.
"Reagan, please pick up," I said, dialing her number again.
"Christine, whats going on?" Reagan asked harshly.
"I don't know," I said, still panicking. "I called you before nine-one-one because I don't know what to do!"
"Where are you in the house?"
"In the very back of Mom and Dad's room," I whispered.
"Did you lock the door?"
"Yes!" I said a little louder than I intended it to be.
"Grab the chair from Dad's desk and put it under the doorknob, tight." Reagan's voice was getting muffled.
"Reagan, I don't hear anything," I said, and held my hand over my mouth.
"Di...put th...air...der the door?" Reagan said, her voice getting more muffled by the second.
"You're cutting out really bad," I whispered. "I have to go, I'll call you in a few minutes, okay?"
"Christine, wait!" I clicked 'end' and turned my brightness down then slid carefully under my parent's bed. I still couldn't hear anything coming from outside the room, but I wasn't going to take any risks. What seemed like hours, but was merely three minutes passed, and then I heard the eerie violin song come from downstairs.
I took a deep breath and slid back out from under the bed and pressed my ear to the vent. The music was ominous and as every other note was played, a chill was painted across my spine. My phone vibrated and it was an unknown number. I took a deep breath and answered the phone.
"Hello?" I said, trying to swallow the bad taste in my mouth. I waited for a few seconds. "Hello?" The line was silent and right before I hung up, I heard the same blood-curdling scream that echoed through the house ten minutes ago. I quickly hung up and covered my mouth. I started to hyperventilate and slid back under the bed.
My phone vibrated again and Reagan's name flashed on the screen. I hit 'ignore' and opened up my messages.
'Reagan, they're right outside the door,' I texted her. Not even a full thirty seconds later, my phone vibrated twice and I had two new messages from her;
Message One- Sent at 12:34
'Keep your mouth shut, don't say a word, please, Christine.'
Message Two- Sent at 12:35
'Christine, call nine-one-one, I'm worried about you.'
I closed out of my messages and clicked into my settings to turn off vibrate and turn on silent. Then, right as I opened my messages, my phone went to a bright white screen. After a minute, my phone shut itself off altogether.
"What?" I whispered, confused. I hit my phone a few times, waiting for it to come back on. Not even the power button was working.
Ten more minutes went by, and I was still hiding under my parents bed. The person in my house had not tried to come into my parents room, which confused me. I stood up to look out the keyhole, but it was too dark for me to see anything. My phone was still by the bed, now lighting up. I tiptoed over, trying to be silent. The same unknown number was stretched across the screen from earlier.
I answered it immediately. "Who is this?" I whispered harshly. "Who is this!" I said, a bit louder and more demanding.
Then the speaker turned itself on and the scream came from the other end of the phone, this time it was a more recognizable scream.
"Reagan!" I yelled. The other end of the line was silent for another few seconds, and then a distorted voice came.
"I'm coming for you," it said, and then a shot rang through the air.
"Reagan!" I yelled again, this time with tears rolling down my eyes. "Who is this?" I cried out in anger. The line was dead. "No, no, no!" I yelled.
I tried to call Mom, but the voicemail answered instead. My parents were in Florida for the week and I was approximately thirteen hours away. And now, I couldn't call Reagan, because she was dead. My face grew puffy and red from crying and finally, after another thirty minutes of sorrow, I stood up and left my Mom a message saying someone was in our house trying to kill me and that they had successfully killed Reagan. Then, I tiptoed over to the key hole in the door and peeped through.
I could hear the violin music playing again, this time much softer.
"He's still here," I sighed. I was still surprised he hadn't tried to come into the room, even after my meltdown when he killed Reagan. I backed up to the bed again and finally dialed nine-one-one. After four buzzes, the line connected.
"Hello, someone just killed my sister, and I'm pretty sure they're in my house now trying to kill me," I said, in a quiet panicked tone.
The line was quiet. "Oh my God," I said. "Oh my God. What do you want with me!" I yelled into the phone.
"I know where you are now," the distorted voice said. "And now I'm coming to get you,"
With that, the line went dead, and my phone turned itself off. Shortly after, I realized there was no sound throughout the house, no eerie music playing, no footsteps; only the sound of my heavy breathing, which filled the room.
I covered my mouth, and slid back under the bed. Hysteria consumed my body and I closed my eyes, letting memories flood in. Memories like when I broke my ankle and Reagan voluntarily carried my backpack around the middle school while I learned to use my crutches. I think she was late to all of her classes, but she didn't want anyone else touching my things.
Or when Mom and Dad surprised us with a summer trip to the Bahamas. We packed up the day before the last day of school, and then left after we got home the next day.
"Best summer ever," I remember saying as we flew across the Atlantic Ocean. And it was too true.
Slowly, I felt tears roll down my face, and when I opened my eyes, reality hit me like a brick wall. And then, the killer was jiggling the door handle, trying to get in. I thought about where I was, and how the man would check under the bed and in the closet first.
In the spur of the moment, I darted into the closet and locked the door behind me. I felt so clever, remembering that the attic was in my parents closet. I hurried up the creaky staircase that was covered in spiderwebs, and just as I reached the top, I heard the man break down the door into the room. I started breathing heavily and peeked through the old boards.
All I could see was a faint outline of the killer.
"I'm gonna get you when I find you," he sang in the same distorted voice that gave me chills. He had a crooked laugh, one that you only hear in horror movies.
A cold breeze flew in through the vent at the very top of the wall. I shivered, but still focused on putting a face on this man. A dim street lamp provided just enough light from the window to see that he was wearing a mask.
He kept chanting, "I'm gonna get you when I find you," and then he broke down the closet door, without even checking to see if it was locked. With my hand still over my mouth, I backed up under a shelf near the back and closed my eyes. I laid completely still, and heard a click. A click that sounded identical to the click that unlatches the attic's door.
"I found you," he said, and walked over to me.
"Oh my God," I cried. "Leave me alone!" I said.
"Goodnight," the man said. And right before this man pulled out his gun, he took his mask off. And suddenly, the man, the killer, had a face.
"Dad?" I asked, crying.
He nodded his head, and pulled the trigger.