Paranoid

4

I called my parents, my cousin, and the police. My parents didn't believe me; neither did the police. No surprise. My cousin hadn't answered, although I'd called more than once. Leaving urgent messages was all I could do.
I was trapped in a house in the middle of nowhere. A house holding an entity that took my boyfriend. I was alone, and nobody would believe me because I was a classified loony. I couldn't ask my parents to come here- they offered, but I begged them to stay home. I didn't want them to go out in the storm and risk their lives only to come here and possibly get taken by that.... that thing.
I'm on my own.
The storm outside rages. The trees whip in the intense wind, and the thunder rumbles nonstop. The lightning begins to mess with my head. I begin to see silhouettes in the shadows cast by the flickering lightning. They take the form of demonic creatures and begin to taunt me in shrill, loud voices. They dance around the room, shrieking and singing. I pull my legs to my chest and rock back and forth, trying to find comfort. Trying to convince myself that they weren't real. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe I hallucinated everything... including Denzel.
I fumble with my phone. There was an easy fix to all of this. I could call him, and then he would answer, and then this entire nightmare would be over. I dial in the number six times; my shaky fingers keep hitting the wrong buttons. Finally, I get in the right number and listen to the line ring. One ring. Two. Four. Eight.
The storm quiets for a split second, and I hear the sound of music. I jump to my feet and follow it. It's Denzel's ringtone, and it sounds like it's coming from the kitchen. Warily, I step over the threshold diving the kitchen from the rest of the house. I can hear it. Coming from a cabinet.
But how is that possible? Denzel was in that room. He was taken. He was upstairs. Why would his phone be down here?
The cabinet door begins to slowly open. I inhale sharply, unable to move. Black claws curl around the door, tapping against the wood in a taunting manner. The sound of Denzel yelling pulls me from my daze. He's still alive.
I lunge forward without thinking. The door slams shut, right on my fingers. I scream in pain. The unmistakable sound of bones crunching fills my ears. I manage to pry the door open enough with my other hand to get myself free. Before the thing can close the door on my other hand, I jump back. The door slams shut yet again.
The music is gone.
I hold my injured hand against my chest and try to steady my breathing. My first three fingers are bent in unnatural ways. Luckily, it seems that shock is doing it's job. I feel a dull throbbing in my hand, but I don't feel the full pain of the injury quite yet. That doesn't mean that this is okay, however. I turn around to grab my phone. In my heroic attempt to jump into the cabinet and save Denzel, I'd dropped it. It now lies shattered on the ground. I stare at the glass shared scattered around the tile. This broken phone is honestly a fantastic physical representation of how I currently feel. Broken.
Well, I am broken though. My hand is. Extremely broken.
I pull myself up using the edge of the counter and exhale. My hand is broken, my phone is shattered, my boyfriend is in extreme danger, my house is haunted, and to top it all off, I'm in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors and no way to contact the outside world to get any help.
Awesome.
As if answering my prayers, someone knocks on the front door. Without asking myself who would be at my door in this horrible weather, I scurry to answer. 
“Ariel?” my mother says the moment I open the door. I must've been quite the sight; bruised, dirty, sweaty, and cradling a broken hand. My eyes flicker from her to my father, who stands next to her in curious silence. His eyebrows are knit together, and his eyes are narrow slits. I can't tell if he's worrying for me or judging me. I look back to my mom.
“I told you guys not to come here,” I say. “It's not safe, you need to go home.”
“Ariel what happened to your hand?” she asks, stepping forwards.
“You need to go back home. Stay away from here,” I respond, pushing her backwards and closing the door behind me.
“What's wrong, sweetheart? Is Denzel in there?” my father asks. His voice oozes with false pity. His favorite thing to do when I was acting crazy was to talk softly and sweetly. It was okay when I was younger, but it lost it's appeal when I became a teenager.
“No. I mean yes, but no. He's in trouble. We need to call someone. Do you have your cellphones?” I ask. I begin to pace, glancing at the upstairs windows every few steps. I was beginning to get soaked by the rain, despite being under the porch roof. The wind was throwing water everywhere. My parents glanced at each other and I could see them communicating in the way most worried parents do; through their eyes.
“Honey, let us inside please,” mom says. It's more of an order than a request. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. But I couldn't let them get taken too. I couldn't put them in danger.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. The howling wind most likely drowned out my words, but I didn't care. I turn around, swing open the door, run inside, and slam it shut behind me. I can hear my parents yelling outside. Dad begins banging on the door. I lock it and cover my face with my hands.
I can't be saved by them. They won't just take me away. They'll call the police. The police will come and check the house. I might be dead by then. Denzel would probably be dead by then. They're wasting my time, my precious time, which I didn't have much of. I can't save myself yet. I have to save Denzel.
Which means I have to stay here.

A/n: Super short and late chapter aaaaa I'm sorryyyy. Not edited because I'm lazy. Spooky season has started so hopefully I'll have the inspiration to keep this thing going! Keep in mind that I'm writing two novels on top of this AND occasionally making one shots so updates may be slow and short.
S o r r y.
Anyway thanks for reading ☆