All The Same (kellic)

3. Every move you make

I've been on a roll with writing this story, so (for those who are reading it), I promise I'll update tdonl soon.

***

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It's 4:30 am, my room dark and cold. How I can see my ceiling past the inky blackness of the basement, I do not know. All I know is that I can't sleep.

I feel like I'm being watched. And, as Tenvin C said, I probably am being watched. This thought is enough to make my heart pound frantically and my imagination spin, creating a stranger under my bed. I'm too frightened to make a move.

I shouldn't have read the letter before bed. There's nothing bad about the way it's written, nothing gruesome or horror movie worthy. It's the way it is written that scares me. It's so conversational and matter-of-fact, as if this mysterious Tenvin C is addressing me like a new friend.

A new play thing.

I shudder. How much does Tenvin C know about me? They said they know more than I would like. But what does that really mean? The more I think about this letter, the more I'm convinced it's not a prank. Nobody in my school is smart enough to conjure an idea so simple like this. Simple, yet still having the power to scare me.

I shouldn't let it get to me, but it's dark and the basement is empty and cold, with many places for a mysterious stranger to hide. There must be cameras around here. But where? Nobody else has entered my house except for me, my mother and Tyler.

Tyler is off the suspect list. I won't allow him to be on it. For one, his handwriting isn't that nice. He prefers to type rather than hand write. Second of all, something like this would freak Tyler out to no end. He's prone to night terrors, meaning he doesn't sleep often because of how bad his nightmares get. So this is definitely something he would never do.

Then that leaves my mother. But my mother is busy at work and wouldn't be around my school unless the teachers need to speak with her. I also know that we own no pieces of manila paper, only manila folders. I doubt my mother would go through the trouble of cutting up a folder and folding it as nicely as it had been folded.

Which leaves me, but of course I didn't leave myself a letter. That's ridiculous.

I don't really have much to go on anyways. I only have this letter. The letter had said though, "This is the first letter you will receive from me." Meaning, there are more to come. I let out a long breath. I don't really want anymore letters, but I have no idea how I can stop them from coming.

I decide to go on instagram. I, very carefully, reach for my phone on my bedside table, my heart pounding. Nothing happens. No scary looking men jump out of my closet, no creepy dolls with knives stab me to death in that very moment.

I unlock my phone and open Instagram. I have a bunch of random notifications and a lot of new followers. I'm a very popular spam account, and surprisingly, I don't get that much hate. I think it's because I'm generally a very nice person to everyone on here (unless they mess with me and my friends, then Angry Kellin makes an appearance).

I scroll through my feed, but it's pretty dead. I don't know whether or not I should make a post or not. It seems a little pointless to post right now when nobody is on.

After a few minutes of mindless scrolling, I decide not to post and I shut off my phone again. Should I try sleeping? My eyes are starting to get heavy, as a matter of fact, and my head does hurt. Will I be able to sleep though? That's the question.

I roll over, ever so cautiously, and shut my eyes. I take a deep breath in, then out. There's no one in my room and there's no one waiting to grab me out of my bed. I'm okay. Everything's fine.