What We Did Wrong

10

Harris Montgomery waited in his living room to hug his parents goodbye. They were taking his little brother, Jon, to a hospital in Michigan due to Jon having heart problems. Soon, his parents and brother were standing in the living room with a couple of suitcases by their sides. The lighting was dull and the air calm.

"Alright sweetie, we left money on the counter for you for food and gas and the numbers for the hospital and hotel room are on the fridge. Are you sure you will be okay?" His mother asked him.

Harris smiled. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

"Okay," his parents grinned at the reassurance.

As the two adults walked outside Harris stopped his brother and knelt down. He was eight years old and resembled a sickly pale child.

"Hey buddy, good luck. You are going to do great okay?"

Jon smiled. "When I get back and feel better, can we play football?" Jon asked.

Harris snickered. "Yeah. I'll let you even be the QB."

"Awesome!"

"Call me when you guys get there okay? So I know that you're safe." Harris hugged his brother.

"Yeah I will."

The family left leaving Harris in the big house. In truth, Harris didn't always like being alone. He enjoyed having his family home and brother around. When it was just him the house seemed like an empty mansion. He worried about Jon. Jon looked up to Harris and Harris would be lost if he ever lost his brother.

The day carried on. Harris sat listening to music. Sierra texted him about a picture Harris had in his locker. He couldn't help but wonder what it was for or who it was from. Sierra seemed she was in a hurry and didn't want to talk about it.

So the sunset came and Harris watched the t.v. Just a football game nothing exciting. He laid sprawled out on the couch, wearing black joggers and a grey sweatshirt that had the schools logo on it. His eyes were heavy and  slowly closing shut until the doorbell went off. Harris sat up wondering who it could've been. He figured it was the old man that lived a few miles up the road. He was a family friend and would stop by sometimes to give Harris and Jon the comic pages out of the newspaper.

He opened the front door to find no one there. The porch was dark and the only light was seen coming from the edge of the sky. It was quite beautiful. Harris looked around and then went back in.

Moments late his phone began ringing it was Sierra.

"Hey beautiful-" he said answering the phone but being cut off by a heavy breathing Sierra.

"Harris you need to leave your house right now!"

"Why, what's going on?"

"Harris just listen to me and leave n-" the phone went silent.

"Hello? Hello?"

His phone was dead.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Harris was anxious now. With everything going on he was nervous, more for Sierra not himself. He went to his room to plug his phone in. As he did so, the doorbell went off again, followed by three loud knocks on the door. Harris stood with a concerned face. He walked back down the stairs slowly again opening the door to find nobody.

"Hello?! Who's out there." Harris yelled out.

He slammed the door shut; locking it. He made sure the other doors were locked then migrated back to the living room. He sat on the couch anxious. He was trying to not think of the worst. The t.v. played soft sound then shut off along with the one lamp that was turned on. Darkness surrounding Harris everywhere.

It was only off for a second then it came back on. Harris felt terror rush through him. He figured by now his phone would be charged a little. He wanted to call the police. As he reached his bedroom, he flipped the light on and to his surprise, his phone was gone. Harris immediately froze then backed out from his room. He grabbed the keys that sat on his desk and backed out slowly. Somebody was in his house. He was going to run for it. As he turned to face the hallway, Harris faced a dark hooded figure. As the person stepped more into the light, Harris saw the mask.

Sierra was right and all Harris could feel was guilt and fear. Judging by the body of the person, he didn't seem very muscular. Harris figured he could take him on. Fight or run? Those were his two options. He couldn't help but wonder how this guy got in. He must have crawled in through a window that was left open.

They watched each other and then the killer took something out of his pocket. It was Harris' phone. He waved it in front of him then tossed it over the railing, hearing it hit the floor. Harris watched then turned back to see the killer. He pushed Harris over the railing. Harris fell to the ground hitting his head off the hard wooden floor. His vision was blurry and his head ached. He quickly got off the floor, holding his arm he had landed on.

The killer slowly walked down the stairs. He pulled out the knife from his pocket, the same one he used to murder Maddie. Harris quickly dashed through the living room, the killer trailing behind.

"What the fuck do you want from us?" Harris yelled. As he threw down a bar stool.

The killer simply tilted his head. Now in the kitchen, Harris armed himself with a black frying pan. As Harris stood ready to fight, he watched as the figure simply grabbed the toaster off of the counter. He held it in his hand; studying it. Harris watched as his arms went up and the toaster flew right at him, knocking him down again. The killer walked right over to him and knelt down. He ran the blade of his knife down Harris' cheek. As soon as Harris gained consciousness, he watched as the killer prepared to stab him. Harris quickly rolled over and stood up, once again running. As Harris ran for the stairs the man tripped him going up. Harris kicked the killer. Then continued up the stairs.

Harris now not knowing his next move went for the bathroom. He figured he could jump from a window. Instead, he hid in the shower. As he sat there listening for anything but his own heart beat, he felt the warm liquid of blood run down his leg. The deep red blood stained through the sweats he was wearing. He lifted the pant leg to find a large gash in his upper thigh.

The boy then felt his pocket. The keys. That's how he was going to get out of there. Harris took a deep breath then exited the shower. He peeked his head out into the hallway. Nothing. Harris stepped out then looked straight out at the front door. He ran. Down the stairs, out the door, and into the car. He turned the key and the headlights flipped on. Standing right in front of Harris was the killer. Without thinking, Harris switched into drive and drove right through his garage. It all happened so fast. Harris was now sitting in his damaged garage. But that was the least of his worries. He got out and walked to the front of the car. He wasn't there. No body. No blood. Gone.

As Harris stood there, he was suddenly struck by something. Harris snapped his head to see the figure once again.  He was holding a chain. The killer swung again and again. Harris bled everywhere. Bruises began forming. He had a swollen eye. Harris, weak and no fight left, laid flat on the garage floor. The killer then dragged him from the garage and back into the house. A trail of blood followed the helpless teen.

Harris now laying in his living room stared at the lifeless mask.

"Please. We're sorry.." Harris spoke softly; coughing.

The killer tilted his head once more. Then lifted his hand in the air. And with a swift motion, he sliced Harris' neck. He gasped for air and held his neck. His last view was a picture of him and his family. He was gone. The killer stood up and dropped another picture on the body.

As the killer finished up, headlights pulled into the drive way. He walked right out of the back door.