Hidden (Team Fear-Decameron)

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My eyes skim around the room

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My eyes skim around the room. It's dark. Too dark.

A shiver runs down my spine.

I know they're here.

They're always here, lurking around in the shadows, trying to seize the perfect moment to make their first move.

I try to ignore them, but it's hard.

Try not to think about them.

Condensation leaves my lips as I exhale. My hands are trembling. I push them down my jeans pockets, hoping that nobody else notices.

No matter what happens, you can't show fear.

My mouth feels dry as I swallow hard. I close my eyes, trying not to think about it, but it's impossible. It all pours down on me, much like it always does.

Memories of the first time I saw one knocks me over, leaving me out of breath.

I'd always felt them. We all do. But after doing some researched over the web and the library, I learned that only people who've been in a life or death situation can actually see them.

We're that lucky.

It feels as if it's our curse for surviving. That's how I've felt ever since it happened three years ago.

I heard the metal crunching before I felt the blow.

The world started to spin and it took me a few seconds to realize that everything was upside down. Something warm trickled down my head while my ears buzzed.

I remember looking around, but everything was blurred. I heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance while I tried to recognize where I was. My heart was thumping so loud that the sound echoed off my ears.

My eyes brim with tears as the memory of the pain I felt washed over me again. It's not the physical ache that makes my stomach sink. It's that I know what's coming next.

Every muscle of my body throbbed as I moved my neck to see from the rearview mirror. No matter how much time passes, a chill runs down my spine as snippets of that day flashes through my mind.

I see the dark navy baby seat as if I was there again, and I know that it's the silence that made my pulse race faster. Bailey was never quiet, as an eight-month-old, she was a little box of sounds. That same morning she'd been babbling non-stop.

A tear runs down my cheek as the memories wash over me. I cower in the corner where no one can see me. Reliving this moment makes my heart ache with unbearable pain.

Not knowing is always the worst.

I can hear my own broken voice as I shifted to move inside the car. "Bailey? sweetie?" I tried to sound calm, I didn't want to scare her even more.

Nothing.

I remember closing my eyes, chanting in my head: Let her be okay, please dear God, let her be okay.

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