Poor Little Things {ON HOLD}

Prologue

When a babysitter thinks about all that could go wrong, an intruder is near the top of the list. I, being the carefree individual I prided myself on being at the time, dismissed such fears. Even so, they were always at the back of my mind.

These peripheral fears stole my complete attention one night in October.

I was babysitting the Allen twins, babies at the time. They were good babies, for the most part. They didn't fuss much and, when they went to sleep, you could count on them staying that way. The problem with that was, I spent a lot of time in a big, empty house all by myself. Little did I know that I was never alone all along.

It started with the creak of a board on the second floor above my head. A part of me thought; 'that sounded an awful lot like a footstep'. Another part of me brushed it off. An old house settles. It's a rule mothers use to assure their young and paranoid folk use to assure themselves. I used it. I shouldn't have.

The upstairs creaked and settled in a rhythmic way that I knew wasn't quite normal. The creaks travelled one by one. Slowly, mind you, but they were steady and travelling. This was quite unlike any other house I'd been in.

I wish with all my heart that I could lay down every detail, every little creak and crack that followed, every beat my heart made. I would if I could. However, the sad truth of it is, I can't remember. I can't remember anything past the point where a cloth was placed over my nose and mouth, I gasped out of fright and the world went dark.

Then, I was waking up in a basement.

This basement wasn't the Allen's basement. This one was small, dark and damp. A basement one would do absolutely anything to get out of. The door was bolted shut and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. A deep, claustrophobic feeling overtook me as my panicked eyes darted around the room, my breath growing heavier.

My breathing stopped altogether.

No, I wasn't shot. In some ways, I wish I was. Yes, this day, I really wish he had waltzed in in his confident, smooth way and shot me dead. He didn't though.

The lean man that entered wore a black trench coat and a knowing smile. I shuffled against the wall and stared at him with absolute terror in my eyes. His hair, medium long in length, was black as night. His eyes, strangely enough, were a reflective, jade-green. The lightness of them was unsettling. He reminded me of a black cat that brings bad luck wherever it goes and causes misfortune. He reflects such a thing in many ways.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said smoothly, in a voice that would fill most girls' hearts with longing.

I suppose you could say mine was full with such a longing. However, I only longed to get out of there and return to my family alive. Such hope I had back then.

"Don't hurt me," I quavered, my voice failing me as I stared at him with shining eyes.

"I won't hurt you...if I don't have to." His voice was so soft. It was soft in a very dangerous way; a soft that made one unsure of what he might do next.

"The...babies," I managed shakily. "Where are the twin-"

"Oh, they're safe," he assured. "They're sleeping right now."

"Let them go. Let us go!" I shrieked, my fear driving me into panic mode.

"Hush," he cooed, his brows furrowing. "You wouldn't want to wake the babies."

"P-please, tell me where I am...and who you are."

The man laughed, showing off a set of perfectly aligned, white teeth.

"My name is Elias...and this is my house."