Each groan of the floorboards felt like another minute off of my life. Each noise became a beacon of alert to the intruder hypothesised to be inside my home. I can't die now. I can't.
My heart stopped after each step down. The usual twelve second trip from the landing to the hall now stretching into the best part of five minutes. I reach the bottom. I stop. I breath. I look.
The window has been put through, as suspected, but nobody seemed to have entered. Shattered glass, strewn across the carpet, glistened in the light of a full moon. In the centre of the constellation of tiny stars scattered upon the pitch black carpet it lay. It's dull husk sticking out in the array of minuscule beauty. A brick. Brown, hard, angular and alone. I squat, careful not to cut myself and aware that danger may still be lurking in the shadows outside. I turn it over and the message was there in thick, black writing.
I KNOW WHAT HE DID
YOU ARE READING
MAYA
Teen FictionMaya was happy. Maya was fun. Maya was smiling. Maya was joking. Maya was laughing. Maya was lying. Maya was crying. Maya was dying. Maya is dead.
