This is a dream. It has to be. I'm not standing in the Victorian right now. I'm not bleeding from a cut on my arm. I'm not shaking, full body shivers that make my teeth hurt. There's no way, because I had my last final today and winter break starts tomorrow so I'm not stressed about anything anymore and have no reason to be sleepwalking.
Something touches my neck. Fingers. They move around until they're pressing against the center of my throat. They're warm against my frozen skin and it almost burns with the contrast of temperatures. The fingers push at my throat until my head tilts to the side. A thumb brushes against the spot behind my ear.
Please, let this be a dream. I don't want to open my eyes and be standing in the house across the street. Someone behind me with their hands on my throat. Squeezing gently and pressing their nails into my skin.
Only, when I open my eyes, I am standing in the house. In the middle of the foyer. I don't know how long I've been in here, but if the fact that my whole body is starting to go numb from being cold is anything to go by, I'd say a while. My phone is in the pocket of my pajama bottoms when I shove my hands in them to warm them up a little.
I pull it out and check the time. It's not even midnight yet. So I've actually only been out here for about twenty minutes? I don't even remember falling asleep.
I use the light from my screen to make sure I don't step on anything that could hurt my bare feet on my way out of the house. I jog down the gravel, ignore the way the little rocks stab at my skin. I almost slip on a patch of ice in the middle of the street as I run across it. The front door is standing open again.
Mom would kill me if she were to wake up and see that. I slip inside, shut the door as quietly as I can and head upstairs. Once I lock the bathroom door, I inspect the cut on my arm. It's not very deep, but it's long and crooked, starting at my elbow and going almost down to my wrist. I rinse it off. Soak it in rubbing alcohol.
In the mirror, I see four crescent shaped marks on my throat. The sight makes me sick. Did I do that to myself while sleepwalking? How did I cut my arm? Why the fuck do I keep going into that house?
I lean over the sink and spit the bile in my mouth out.
I must be losing my mind.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Go In Alone
HorrorThe old Victorian across the street has always given Molly the creeps. Despite her fears, she goes inside one night with her friends in what they hope will be a fun story to tell the other kids at school. But something isn't right when they come ou...
