I was 11 years old the first time it happened. The unmistakable ring of the phone blared through the house as I opened my eyes hesitantly. I glanced at the clock. 3:00. Exactly.
I sat up and got out of bed, stopping to put on my slippers as I headed to the nearest phone, feeling blindly in the darkness.
I finally reached the phone, which was blaring a red colour. A warning message flashed onto the screen. I picked up.
"Hello?" My voice broke the silence of the night.
"Homewood household?" A voice said, "This is the Prognosticate Society. Who is speaking?"
"Holly," I said, holding the phone close to my face.
"Ok Holly. Where are your parents?"
I glanced towards the door that led into my parents room, open just a crack. There was no sign of movement.
"Asleep," I said, after a long pause.
"I see. Would you mind waking them?"
I edged towards the door, pushing it open with my leg. A putrid aroma filled my nostrils as I walked in, hitting me like a wall.
Glass littered the floor and the lamp by the bed was glowing, illuminating the room. The sheets were stained with red, and my parents were still. Unbreathing.
"Holly? Are you still there? We need to speak to your parents. It's important."
I swallowed.
"You can't," I said, taking a deep breath, "They're dead."