Hannah's POV
I backed up against the door, my breath coming in quick gasps and my eyes were tightly shut.
I knew the boy was still there. He was only standing a few steps down the stairs, I could practically feel his eyes burning into me.
Frantically, I tried the handle again, pulling at it desperately but it wouldn't open.
"Shit," I breathed, trying to focus on not crying.
Why the hell was this boy even doing in my Great Aunt's basement anyway?
"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice cracking and shaking.
There was nothing but silence for a few minutes until there was a short, quiet laugh.
"Your worst nightmare," he said and then the door unlocked. I quickly opened the door, running through it and locking it.
I ran towards the front door, pulling on it but it was locked.
"Come on!" I yelled and I decided my best option should be to run back upstairs. I started to run for it when I tripped on the first step.
I fell down and hit my head off the corner of another step.
Hard.
And darkness covered me.
Michael's POV
I unlocked the basement door with ease, going out to see where the girl had gone.
The girl, or Hannah as she was called had fell and hit her head off the step. I chuckled lightly, leaning against the banister and watching her.
Her blonde hair was spread over her face, and I could see a small cut just at her hairline, the blood starting to mix with her hair.
I grabbed her arms, pulling her upstairs. Opening her bedroom door with my foot, I dragged her inside and placed her on top of her bed.
She breathed steadily as her heartbeat was slowly decreasing after the heart attack I almost gave her.
As I looked round the room I realised that this was my old room. My jaw clenched as I closed my eyes, remembering that fateful night...
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The date was around the late 1800s.
My father was a blacksmith in the local village and my mother stayed at home with me, I was always closer to my mother as when I turned around thirteen, I started to notice a change in my father.
He would display violence towards me. When I was seventeen he punched me and he always verbally abused me, he called me worthless and pathetic.
But I would always hide it from my mother. Because she loved him.
He night he punched me, I tried to hide the black eye as well as I could from my mother. But as we were eating dinner that night, she noticed it.
"Michael, dear? Let me see your face?" She said, coming towards me. I flinched as she touched my eye and she gasped, tears filling her eyes.
"Oh Michael, who hit you? They can't get away with this!" She said and I glanced a look at my father who was glaring back at me, daring me to say something.
"Some drunk person tried to steal the money I had when I was in the village to get bread. It was nothing mother." I said. She shook her head, kissing my forehead and she hugged me tightly.
The next month, my mother did not drop the subject of my black eye. It was a couple of days after my eighteenth birthday, I kissed my mother goodnight and went upstairs to bed.
I sat in the silence and darkness and I listened to my mother and father talking. Their voices suddenly got louder until they were shouting at eachother.
An overwhelming power of fear took over me and I didn't want my mother to get hurt. I slipped on my shoes and headed to the door.
As soon as I opened it, I heard my father shout at my mother.
"Well, do you know what? I gave our precious son that black eye! I punched him! And I enjoyed every second of it."
I heard my mother gasp and I heard the loud slap of someone's hand coming into contact with someone else's cheek.
I ran down the stairs just in time to see my father stride towards my mother, punching her in the jaw.
"Leave her alone!" I yelled entering the living room. My father laughed, kicking my mother to the side.
"Hurt me! Hurt me! Just stop hurting her! She doesn't deserve it." I said and he smirked.
"That's what I wanted to hear." He said, delivering a punch to my face. I stumbled backwards and then he punched me in the stomach and I doubled over in pain. I groaned and he threw me onto the floor, kicking me over and over again.
I didn't even try to fight back, scared of what he might do to my mother. He leant down beside me and grabbed my throat.
"You're willing to let me torture you in order for me not to hurt her?" He said and I glanced at my mother before nodding.
He straightened up, smiling.
"Well thank you for telling me what hurts you the most." He said and I didn't understand what he was saying.
Until he brought a gun out of his pocket and pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight into her chest.
"No!" I screamed but I couldn't move a muscle before he shot me in my side. The bullet hit me hard and I couldn't get a proper breath. I looked over at my mother and saw that she wasn't moving. And I couldn't see her chest moving.
My eyes blurred with tears as I focused on trying to breathe normally but my breathing was becoming more shallow and irritable.
I coughed and I heard my father laugh. He suddenly came into my vision and he knelt down beside me.
"So was this worth it, son? Dying for her?" He said, his mouth twisted into a sick smile.
I swallowed back the liquid that was rising in my throat and looked back over at my mother. I knew that she was dead. He had killed her. A tear fell down my face as I turned back to him.
"Yes." I whispered and his smile vanished and he hit me with the barrel of the gun.
The impact of the blow made my head bounce off the floor and that's when everything turned for the worse.
My eyes started to spin and I couldn't get them to focus on everything and my breathing was getting harder.
I felt myself like is was falling, my world blurring as each second went by.
Then it happened.
I inhaled once and I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer so I closed them, feeling myself drifting off to somewhere, where to I didn't know.
So I let go.
I died.
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I opened my eyes again, feeling anger build up inside my chest and I shook my head.
I had woke up next to my body and I saw that my father had shot himself.
Shaking my head, I walked back out of the room and walked down to the living room. I paced the room for a while, remembering every event that happened in there when my father went crazy that night.
"Hmmm," I heard Hannah groan from upstairs. A smile started to play on my lips as I went back upstairs and into her room.
She was starting to come back around from her fall. My hand reached forward and I took a piece of her blonde hair in my hand, twisting it between my thumb and forefinger.
I dropped it as her eyes started to flutter and she groaned some more. I made myself invisible then, watching her wake up and I silently laughed to myself.
She was going to be the most fun I have had here in 200 years.
