Night of Terror

8

Halloween 2017, 2:03 a.m.

The old Morreau house is dark and silent as Sarah steps inside shortly after two in the morning. It's waiting, holding its' breath in anticipation of what's to come.

Turning on the flashlight app on her phone, Sarah wanders through the first floor beckoning Ric in hushed tones.

"Ric, come on," Sarah whisper-yells. "This isn't funny."

Her words go unanswered. In the kitchen, Sarah hears the faint humming of the new refrigerator and from the living room the weird, old cuckoo clock that came with the house ticks as steady as a heartbeat.

Something heavy hits the floor on the second floor right above where Sarah stands and she jumps, feeling the residual vibration rattling in her bones. Swallowing hard with determination Sarah climbs the stairs two at a time making sure her sneakered feet are soundless on the stairwell carpeting.

She hesitates at the top of the stairs as the full moon's distorted reflection glimmers through the window at the end of the hall like a silver mirage. The second floor is as dead as the first and every door is shut, the empty space beneath each door darkened.

Sarah exhales and allows herself to relax slightly as she slinks down the hall to her bedroom. Her left hand shakes slightly as it hovers over the doorknob. After breathing in so deeply her body feels bloated with air then exhaling slowly as she pictures herself as a fire-breathing dragon Sarah convinces herself to grow up and open her bedroom door.

She shines the flashlight streaming out of her phone around the room thoroughly before stepping inside and making sure to leave the door ajar behind her. Sarah's bedroom is empty and undisturbed, her bed is still askew from the last night she slept here and her laundry still overflows from the basket in the corner of the room.

"Ric, what was that call about?" Sarah whispers though her boyfriend isn't present to answer. She sinks down onto the bed and sighs in frustration as she hugs one of her throw pillows to her chest. Maybe Tav was right, maybe she should have waited for morning before coming back here.

Sarah's eyelids begin to get heavy and she lies down on her side to get more comfortable. As she drifts off to a deep but troubled sleep she's unaware of the basement door opening and a familiar, yet changed figure emerging from the musty cellar.

Sarah wakes with a start, hearing a pulsing thumping from the floor below. She blinks sleepily at the clock on the nightstand and the angry red numbers flash back 4:13 a.m.

Chastising herself for falling asleep, Sarah sits on the side of the bed, planting her feet on the cold hardwood floors and strains to hear the pulsing thuds sounding from below her floorboards. A groan, like old floorboards giving way downstairs comes through the cracks in the floor as Sarah looks down, her hands braced on her knees and her head bent. Without warning something hits the ceiling on the first floor so hard that the floor beneath Sarah's feet rattles and jumps upward.

Gasping, Sarah scrambles back onto her bed pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging her knees as she fights to calm her racing heart. Fearing for Roberto, Grace, and Pricilla, Sarah darts out of her room and into the hall.

The darkened passage is silent but downstairs she hears Pricilla calling, "Sarah, is that you? Come down here."

"Coming," Sarah calls back softly and takes one step toward the stairs when something grabs her by the back of her shirt and tugs her backward. Sarah yelps and spins coming face to face with Pricilla.

"That wasn't me," Pricilla whispers urgently as she furtively glances at the top of the stairs. "I heard it too."

"If it wasn't you, who was it?" Sarah asks as her stomach plummets. "And why did it sound just like you?"