A R I A
"Mom? Answer your phone, already!" I said into the voicemail and hung up angrily.
I just got out of a two-hour long detention with Mrs. Cockroach and it's pouring freezing rain. The parking lot was completely deserted, and it was well past school hours.
My parents weren't answering their cell phones and I was dead tired, not to mention the walk back home is twenty minutes. I usually walk home, but the weather isn't really on my side today. I texted my friends too, but none of them have answered, either.
"Jesus, why did everyone decide to die today?" I groaned and started dragging myself down the sidewalk.
The cold water hit my face in drops, and five minutes later I felt like icicles were piercing my cheeks.
It's not even freaking winter.
When a car drove by and splashed me, I gasped, feeling colder than I already was. I spun around and watched as the vehicle drove away while I waved my middle finger at it before turning back around, walking as fast as I could in the cold.
Stupid Mrs. Cockroach. All I did was accidentally break her favourite ruler. And pencil. And stapler. And basically all of her stationary supplies.
She was a total beach.
As I approached my house, I rolled my eyes when I heard Last Christmas by Wham, coming from inside. It was both Mom and Dad's favourite song, and I would always come home to the smell of freshly baked cookies when they had the day off—which was rare, considering they were pretty busy people. I loved those days, when we could just be together. Even if it meant listening to the same song over a million times.
I stepped on the porch and dug into my pockets for the keys, knowing if I knocked no one would hear. But I stopped when I noticed the door was ajar.
Typical. Of course they left the d-
I wasn't scared until I saw the blood on the handle.
Furrowing my brows, I pushed the door open and was immediately hit with a strong, metallic stench.
What the heck is that?
Scrunching up my nose in disgust, I walked inside the living room and shut the door behind me. The first thing I saw was a broken lamp on the carpet and the speaker that was blasting my parents' favourite song.
Stepping over the lamp, I went to pause the music and tried to ignore the feeling in my gut, telling me something isn't right.
"Mom? Dad?" I called, waiting for my mother to come strolling into the room with a tray of cookies in her hands.
When nothing happened, I called again, making my way into the kitchen.
There was still no response.
In the kitchen, I was met with one of the worst sights you could have ever imagined.
Blood was splattered across the wall and floor, as if a toddler had been attempting to paint. Cutlery was scattered everywhere, bowls, plates, and glasses were shattered, and more trails of red and flesh travelled down the hallway. I followed the blood, my hands shaking as I picked up Mom's silver necklace from the floor. The one Dad gave her on her birthday four years ago. The one she never took off. It was also covered in blood.
"What kind of prank is this, Mom? Dad?" I cried, creeping into the guest bedroom.
That's when I broke.
There they were, the two people I loved the most. Their guts spilt across the floor, bruised and bloodied. Someone had slit my mother's throat and slashed her stomach, her right leg practically ripped off. Her body was lying on the white fluffy rug, that was now soaked in blood. Dad was sprawled across the bed, a hole in the middle of his forehead, brains splattered on the wall. His heart had been ripped out, lying only a few feet away from where I was standing. I felt like throwing up.
I dropped on my knees, sunk onto the floor and wept beside my parents.
"Mom? Dad? Wake up, please. I love you so much, you know that. So why won't you wake up?" I cried like a little girl, completely helpless.
I stayed like that for the next few minutes, clutching onto my mother's necklace and sobbing.
Last Christmas I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special
"I know I turned that off. . ." I whispered to myself, my eyes widening.
I raced down the hall and into the living room. My heart hammered against my chest, and I shut the speaker off again, then noticed something that wasn't there when I entered before.
On the coffee table was a tray. Only one cookie was left, along with a sticky note. I bent down to read it, careful not to touch it.
Delicious, it said.
Tears spilling once again, I dialled nine-one-one.
"Hello, what's your emergency?" The operator said in a robotic voice.
"It's my parents. They're dead."