.;.
Spaghetti, butter, and black pepper.
That's what you had for dinner.
It wasn't half-bad, if you were to be honest. If anything, it could've even been considered delicious.
After washing your plate in the sink, after drying it and placing back in the cupboard above, you stared at the empty kitchen, the kitchen that was filled with little stupid porcelain objects and fake fruit you couldn't bring yourself to throw away.
Picking up the pot of leftovers, you opened your largely empty fridge and placed it inside, not bothering to switch out the pot for tupperware to make space. It's about time you went grocery shopping. Next to the fridge, on the tiny windowsill of the kitchen window, there was a shrimp with a chef's hat winking at you completely motionless. You winked back at it without much thought or care, and your eyes slowly refocused on your reflection on the glass. Even though it wasn't crystal clear, you could still tell you looked terrible.
You walked away from the kitchen, your eyes barely scanning over the many letters and cards scattered onto the dining table, ones filled with apologizes and condolences, and turned on the television in the living room.
"-olice are still on the hunt for the killer of Kate Morris, a twenty-three year old college student who was found dead last week in-"
You switched the channel and threw the remote on to the couch.
Slowly, you made your way upstairs past the master bedroom and into your own. The walls half-bare from when you left for university seven years ago, and cardboard boxes that expressed your return were left open and mostly unattended. You closed your curtains, moving on to the small bathroom and turned on the water, undressing as it warmed.
Just as the kitchen window reflected, you did look pretty terrible. If it wasn't the dark circles that gave it away, it was your hair that looked as if it hadn't been cared for in weeks. You took out the hair tie that kept it all in place and hopped in the shower.
The water was soothing, so you took your time to wash your hair and lather your body with the extra fancy bath soap you touched on rare occasions. Your brain started drifting to two different places, luckily bringing it back to one before you made yourself cry again.
Tomorrow, you'll finally leave the house in what seemed like forever. You'll go out and get some sunlight, buy groceries, and maybe even tend to the flowers that had been getting out of hand in the front lawn. Your days inside this house, alone and quiet as they were, had you almost convinced that you were in a separate dimension or even some type of liminal space.
Maybe your brain had gone to mush from being inside for so long.
When you stepped outside the shower, taking the crispy white towel from the rack to dry yourself and wrapping it around your body, you wiped the foggy mirror, seeing your wet hair and soft face. You didn't look too bad, and a good night's rest does tend to go far. A thought passed through your mind in those exact words, and just like that you were sad again. However, instead of crying, this time, you just grinned and sighed.
You sat on your bed, looking around your room as you thought of the years you spent in this room and how you thought you'd never come back to this house. Not to live in, at least.
You forgot you left the lights and TV on downstairs and quickly made your way down in your towel. There was a show about paranormal occurrences on and despite your slight interest you turned the television off, opting for sleep instead.
With the lights off behind you, you turned to the staircase, before hearing something hit the floor upstairs. And like flies flocking to a corpse, or a strawberry dropped in bubbly champagne, anxiety began to fill inside of you.
You knew what room it came from.
The steps creaked under your weight, the sounds of them extra loud as your ears tried to focus.
Now upstairs, you faced the door to the master bedroom filled with hesitation. You hadn't been in this room once since your return, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't want to. Turning the knob slowly, you opened the door, flicking on the light switch and walking deeper into the room.
Everything was lightly dusty, the bed still made with its floral bedsheets, and the lamps from the switch were dim and soft. On the floor in front of the nightstand, laid a picture frame on its front. Considering its placement, you picked it up and sat on the bed.
It was a picture of you as a kid, your smile wide, missing teeth and all. To the left of you was your father, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with age, and to your right, your mother, her face appearing not that much younger than your father. She was bent down with her hands on your shoulders, her head next to your own, smiling just as bright as you.
Mom...
You found yourself smiling at the memory of that day, and you ran your hand down the side of the frame. The other picture on the stand was a picture of your father holding you as a baby. He looked younger there, maybe in his early fifties. Looking back down to the picture in your hands, your smile slowly began to disappear as the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand.
A ghost? No, not a ghost, you didn't even believe in ghosts. Or did you? You didn't know. You stood, still holding the frame in your hand as you backed to a wall and looked around.
Nothing seemed out of place, besides the knocked over picture, so you wondered if maybe there was some paranormal force at hand. Growing bold, you separated your lips and took a breath.
"I know you're in here."
Your body was stiff and still in anticipation,
"Show yourself."
Silence answered you, and after fifteen seconds of just standing, you started to feel like a dumbass.
Until the closet door opened.
"Alright, alright, you got me."
Your body went ramrod stiff as some random man came stepping out of your mother's closet, his head bending down in the process. He was neatly dressed, his lips fixed in a grin as his playful eyes focused on your own, shocked ones.
He began to make his way to you as your mind blanked and the grip on the frame grew stronger, proving himself to be way taller than you had first noticed in comparison to your own vulnerable body.
Your eyes darted down to the object he had in his hand and back up to his unwavering face.
"What is it?"
As if his voice set you off, you threw the picture frame at him and immediately turned to the door behind you, running out and down the stairs to the dark kitchen. He was close behind you and when you made it to the dining room table, you both began to run around it until you stopped and started baiting each other on which direction to go in.
Your jaw was screwed shut while your eyes were wired open, absorbing his every move. He looked amused and maybe even happy with the little tango you two were doing, until you figured to just make a break to the utensil drawer.
Before you could open it he had you by behind, one arm behind you as the other drew closer with the syringe.
You folded your body onto the counter and abruptly came up, headbutting him from behind allowing you to slip out from your grasp.
But in a lapse in judgment on where to go, passing the front door, you ran back up the stairs again.
He followed you, of course, right on your heels and you tripped on the last step causing you to fall and for him to pounce on top of you. You began to throw punches at him as he fought you back with one arm, the other holding the syringe pointing up. When he caught your hands, you slipped out of your towel and started to get up, before he caught you from behind again, pressing your front with his own body against the hallway. You pushed him as hard as you could with your backside, causing him to grunt and back away, but that temporary freedom just made him cross his arm around you with his other elbow digging into your ribs, bringing you both down to the floor again.
You felt the carpet against your ass as he crossed his long legs over yours rendering you unable to kick him or get up. He had his long arm over yours by the elbows, squeezing you as your chest shook while you squirmed. You tried headbutting him again but he moved back in time, resting his chin on the top of your head while your wet hair stuck to the sides of your face.
The more he squeezed you, the less you were able to move, and so he brought the tip of the needle to your neck, successfully pricking you as your vision drew blurry and your body grew numb and as your wide eyes slowly began to close...
.;.