It's just past midnight, and I can't sleep. I lay tossing and turning in the apartment where we live. My parents were gone on a business trip for the next few days, and my brother just left for college so I'm all alone. When I'm sleep deprived, I get as cranky as a giant whose most valuable possesion was stolen — and that means angry.
I reach on the nightstand next to me and turn on my lamp. My eyes scan over the contents scattered on top of the wood: my phone and Blohsh earbuds; a few paperback novels; some loose leaf paper and a few pens; and some drawings I'm currently doing.
I reach for my phone and earbuds, plug them into my phone and put them into my ears. I turn on my iPhone and pull up SoundCloud and turn on my Billie Eilish playlist. As I listen to her comforting voice, my mind feels relaxed and less scrambled like eggs at a hotel buffet. My eyes begin to shut, and my body feels like it's floating.
A sudden noise downstairs snaps me out of my mood, followed by a string of swears. My eyelids flutter open quickly and I pause the song that I'm on now, and can hear voices trying to be quiet, but they're not-so-quiet after all.
"We should split up and search the place," a man says, "and make sure no one's aware that we're here. I'll search downstairs and you can search upstairs, Bil. Danielle will take as many valuables as she can. If you find anyone, you know what to do."
"Fin, I know what to do. We grab them, knock them out, and put them in the van. It's not that hard. I'll head up now."
And then I hear footsteps running up the stairs.
With almost no time to spare, I get out of bed, grab my phone, and crawl under it as fast as I can. Right after I do that, my bedroom door opens, and I can see a pair of Nike sneakers walking around my room. My breathing speeds up, and I hold my breath. The shoes walk towards my closet and open the doors; after a few seconds, they shut and my bathroom door opens. The sneakers walk inside the bathroom and start checking the cabinets and the shower.
And then I do something that will give away my spot.
I sneeze.
The sneakers stop, and then start walking towards the spot where the sound was heard. Then the sneaker's owner's knees get on the ground and look under the bed. The person is wearing a lime-green ski mask so I can't see their face. They smirk.
"Gotcha, babygirl," the voice says.