Invisible

Well, I've had this one saved to my desktop for a few months, and it hasn't gotten very far :-( So I've decided to start working on it again... Tell me what you think! :-)

 

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Chapter One

 

            A floorboard groaned, the sound stretching out long and terrible, like in a horror movie. My eyelids shot open immediately, revealing the dark room to my eyes. There was no light, not even a moon beam or two filtering through the window. It was a new moon tonight.

            Dead silence. The house was insanely quiet… Too quiet. John’s place always had some kind of noise going on; the furnace grumbling on and on in the basement, or a box fan whirring in the hallway outside my door. Anything—but right now, the only thing audible was my heart pounding in my throat. Beads of sweat dripped off my forehead and down past my ear. Soon enough my pupils focused, and the dark outlines of things in the bedroom started to take shape.

            Movement on my left got caught in my peripheral vision. Quickly, my hand darted out and fumbled around for the switch on the lamp. Blinding white light filled the room, making John wince. Repeatedly I blinked in an attempt to get my eyes used to the brightness.

            “John, you scared me.” I grumbled uselessly. The words fumbled around in my mouth when I tried to talk. John grinned his usual, crooked-toothed grin, but this time the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Groggily he rolled his eyes around, looking at my room. Why he was in here, I had no idea.

            “You should be scared,” He said lightly. His voice sounded bubbly, like he’d had too much to drink. “You should be very scared.”

            John was so insanely interesting when he got drunk—he started rambling on about useless things in the world that possibly nobody cared about, or said pointless things about anything at all. So I chuckled and sat up in my bed, propping my back up against the head board. Tiredly I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and shook my frumpled brown hair out of my face so I could look at him.

            “What are you talking about?” I asked quietly, a grin lingering on my lips.

            John laughed stupidly and his eyes crossed slightly. For a second I wondered how much he actually had been drinking, or what he was drinking in the first place. He blinked a few times before resting his gaze on me. Something shiny glinted behind his back.

            “I hate you.” John said. Suddenly his dopey smile turned into an angry frown, and his eyebrow twitched like he was thinking hard about something. My eyes glanced down to the object behind his back, and his fingers tightened around the handle of the steak knife. Slowly my smirk disappeared, melting away until my mouth pursed in a tense line.

            “John…” I warned him, not taking my eyes off the knife.

            John stood there beside my bed for a minute, zoning off into space. Sweat beaded on the nape of my neck at the sight of the shiny metal blade in his fist, completely lethal, insanely frightening.

            Before I knew it, John had raised his hand in the air and the blade came boring down.

            Right away I leapt out of the way and dove to the floor, just in time to hear the sound of the thin bed sheets ripping and tearing, the popping noise each time the knife burrowed through the layers in the mattress, the metallic sound of a spring coiling around the blade. I scrambled to my hands and knees and started crawling to the door, my oversized limbs getting in the way. John struggled to get his knife out of the mattress, yanking on the handle with a forced amount of strength. I stood up, turning quickly on my heel to face him. John had freed his weapon and was coming after me in slow motion, like in a dream. Light caught on the steel blade, making it glint in the lamp light as it sliced through the air and missed my neck by inches and stabbed into the wooden doorframe.