Stories by Makayla

A Crazy Family

Prologue

Summer is a 16 year old girl growing up in the suburbs of Los Angeles, being raised only by her father. She has no siblings and her mom died in a car crash two years ago. She is quite daring. Because she's a daring young child, she often made choices others would consider foolish.

Her dad is employed as a special effects director. He never knew how to properly joke around. His "jokes" often are not ones that others find funny. When he gets angry, he pretty much makes people's lives a living nightmare. Many people have different things to do for enjoyment, his is just not that enjoyable for the person he's angry at.

Story

It was a quiet autumn Friday night. Everyone in the neighborhood was either still working or out celebrating the end of the work week. I, on the other hand, was planning on staying home and reading a book after my dad left for a late night call at work.

"Summer?" my dad asked almost in a whisper.

I looked up from my phone and into his dark hazel eyes. "Yes, I know," I said, rolling my green ones. "You want me to take care of the house while you're gone tonight. Don't worry, I have it all under control." I was tired of hearing the same thing repeated; he's only told me this about five thousand times today alone.

"I know, sweetie," he tried to make it seem as if he understood how annoying it was, "but I just want to make sure you're going to be safe."

I huffed roughly and said, "Dad. I've said this a million times and I'll sway it again. I will be fine." I said the last part very slowly, which set him off. His face began turning even more heated than the sun on a hot summer day. He never gets angry so easily like this, but right at that very moment, he looked angrier than a bloodthirsty carnivore. I knew something bad was about to happen. Before he could do or say anything he would regret later on, he stormed out of the house.

I stomped up to my room on the creaky steps and slammed my door shut. I screamed out in frustration. I knew he was only trying to protect me, but he didn't have to remind me to stay safe so many times.

When I finally calmed down from my emotional storm raging inside, I lay down on my bed and took a deep breath. Everything was silent and it made me uncomfortable.

All of a sudden, the front door to the house screeched open. I heard no footsteps on the wooden floor, which was odd because our house has creaky floors, making it impossible for anyone to sneak in without waking us up at night.

I walked out of my room and yelled, "Hello," throughout the house.

There was no answer, just the clanging of dishes. I heard some of them shatter. I slowly creeped down the stairs, still listening to the banging and shattering.

"You know, Dad, just because you're angry doesn't mean you have to-" I began as I walked into the kitchen, but I quickly cut myself off when I saw no body holding or throwing the dishes. It was as if they were doing it by themselves! I could've sworn that, at that exact moment, music from scary movies began to play in the background.

I tried telling myself that my mind was only playing tricks on me; that I was dreaming. I blinked rapidly, and pinched myself as hard as I could, but nothing worked.

The banging and the shattering finally stopped. The remaining dishes fell to the ground and the broken pieces were scattered all over the floor. I didn't dare step in there to clean up the mess while I was in my bare feet.

Before I could grab my dad's boots that he wore while mowing the lawn, I walked past the living room only to see furniture being yanked away and thrown back against the walls. There was most likely going to be huge dents in those walls now.

"Okay, Dad. Joke's over. You can come out and show your face now," I laughed nervously. But, again, there was no answer.

I ran up to my room faster than I've even ran the mile at school. I grabbed my phone to call 9-1-1. As soon as I dialed it, tears began to sting my cheeks as they began pouring out of my fearful eyes. My breathing began to pick up. I don't think that seeing a knife stuck through my door with a note written in blood that said, "You're next' helped my case at all.

What did that even mean? Was my dad gone?

"Dad!" I cried out. The tears streamed down faster and faster. I could barley breathe at this point.

"9-1-1, what's your emerge-" the line went dead, the electricity went out, and the house was dark and silent. There was no banging or clanging of dishes. There were no couches being slammed against the living room walls. It was all just silent.

My breathing was still heavy and my chest was moving up and down rapidly. I lay down on my bed trying to calm myself down and just listen to the crickets eerily chirp a note every few seconds. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

Out of nowhere, my bed began to shake.

"Oh, what now?" I groaned.

I jumped off my bed faster than two shakes of a dog's tail.

It was still shaking after I got off. I decided I had had enough of all of this so I clambered down the stairs to go to the neighbor's house until dad got home. When I got downstairs, however, I saw my dad and a bunch of his coworkers laughing hysterically at me.

All that I could manage to get out of my mouth was, "Dad?"