The sound of breaking glass stopped her. Slowly pivoting, she looked at the kitchen door. It stood empty; deprived of a body. Shrugging, Samara turns back to the fridge and grabs an iced tea. Shutting the door with only the slight sucking of the fridge sealing, she tip-toed up the stairs and into her room. Friday 13th had been awesome and totally worthy of pissing herself. The chainsaw dude sneaking up on the victims and cutting/killing them, the pitiful screams of the casualties and the murderer being hung and not dying even with an axe lodged in his forehead! Oh the joys of horrors.
Snuggled underneath the covers, Samara was jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream. Shaking her head, she tried to get Friday 13th from her head. The scream repeated, awakening her again.
Shaking, Samara turned on her torch and walked down the stairs. Gurgling was emitting from the lounge room. She hesitantly walked in and screamed. On the floor was her father, pale and lifeless with a giant gash in his back. Hovering over him was Chainsaw dude.
Dropping the torch, she ran to her room and bolted under the bed, crying like a baby. Heavy footsteps stopped outside her door and the rev of a saw was heard before her white door was cut to pieces. The steps came closer to her hiding place. Screaming again, she dove from under her bed and ran out the door, dodging the murderer's hand.
She continuously knocked on her neighbour's door, whimpering for entrance. The shadow of her stalker creeped across her lawn and over the white, wooden fence separating it from the other lawn. Giving up in her attempt to get help, Samara bolted. The Chainsaw dude herded her to the wharfage of docks. Choosing the quay that lead to the Visitor's Island or Paradise Shelf, Samara raced into the palm groves.
A four metre high fence came into view, surrounding her in a three-walled box. Skidding to a stop, she panted, trying to find a way to scale her prison. She was panting so hard she didn't notice the Chainsaw dude sneak up behind her. Turning around, she let out one last scream before plummeting into darkness.
Samara sat up quickly, breathing heavily. Felt her throat. Still intact. She looked at her door. Whole. Scampering out of bed, she threw on her dressing gown and ran down the stair. Her dad was in the kitchen having a coffee.
"Are you alright, Samara? You look like you've seen a ghost." He asked, placing his cup on the bench. Swinging her arms around her dad, Samara cried, muttering "you're alive! You're alive!"
Reality crashed in. It was all a dream.
