𝗴𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵; park jisung

𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

The fucking white van....

She had watched it drive off only three or was it four hours ago?

Why was it still here?

Her knees buckled beneath her, leaving her as a heap on the floor with silent tears streaming down her pink cheeks.

Her eyes held the eerie, yet undeniable look of utter fear.

"No, no, no, no," she mumbled, looking like a psychotic asylum patient who had gotten out.

Her black hair ruffled beneath the harsh tugs it received. She couldn't handle the thought of this.

Was she being dramatic? Possibly. Very possibly. But in the realistic side of thing, how many people visited a house that late at night?

No one.

She took to her feet, gripping onto her phone tightly while turning the camera on.

She pointed it at the stalking vehicle, snapping a blurred picture of what could be seen of the license plate.

She proceeded to put a sweatshirt on, wanting the warning chill to leave her alone, and for her parents to come in and tell her that she was being dramatic and silly.

That's all she truly wanted. But instead, the deafening sound of the door crunching off its weak hinges made her stomach drop.

It was truly happening, and she wasn't being silly. She tossed her phone under the covers of her messy bed, hoping that if the worst thing possible happened, her parents would find the van.

A practical thinker. That's what her dad had always called her, so she tried to use it to her strength.

"My hockey stick," she lowly mumbled, head spinning with the thoughts of how she would die. "It's in the kitchen."

She cursed at her luck, but found her mind running to the only thing possible.

The knives, the hockey stick and most of all, the back exit. It was all in the kitchen, and that's where she needed to go.

Taking meek strides to the closed door, she extended a shaking hand.

Not now Seyeon!

She gripped the golden handle forcefully, pulling the door open - thankfully with no squeaks - and revealed the black hallway.

She had turned all the lights off before retreating to her bedroom earlier that night. And the idea suddenly felt was not her greatest idea.

How could she possibly get down there now?

Her heart was stuck in her throat, the throbbing of each body part amplifying the adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

She crept along the dark hallway, the light footsteps emitting creaks from beneath her making her cringe.

But what scared her more was the sound of boots thumping from somewhere downstairs.

Whoever was here wasn't trying to hide.

She began her descent down the old stairs, the odd groan of age coming out and echoing through the eerily silent house.

Shit.

Her eyes watered, blurring the stairway while she continued stepping down, not hearing the intruder anymore.

Where is he? She thought, the tears cascading down her cheeks again as the gentle whistling of the wind weaving through the bare trees penetrated her hearing.

Two more steps, that's as all that was left, but the odds were against her as a low chuckle reverberated against the walls.

"Hi Seyeon..." the voice stopped, watching as the small, shaking figure turned around. "Looking for this?"

He held the hockey stick up, examining the weapon carefully before approaching her.

"Too bad I got there first."