Flashlight {Luke}

2. "Who the hell are you?"

Chapter Two

      I must be seeing things. I blink again and rub my eyes. The corner room inside the house is dark, just like it always is. Of course. Sighing, I head back to my house and dismiss it. I'm tired and the stress of finals is getting to me. I'll be thinking much more straight once I get home and actually get a decent night's sleep. 

      By the time I get into the house, the plastic bag handles have left red indentions in my skin. I rub them away as I place the items in the cabinets. An almost empty liquor bottle on the counter catches my attention and I exhale loudly. Dad is home. I place the bottle back in the cabinet and tuck the remaining plastic bags under the counter. 

      "Hey, baby girl," my father greats from the kitchen doorway. His eyes are tired and I am able to smell him from across the room. I send him a nod and he approaches me, placing a kiss on the top of my head. I try and shrug away from the grip on his shoulders but they tighten. "What's wrong?" 

      "Nothing," I lie. 

      "Then why are you trying to get away from me?" 

      "You smell like whiskey." 

      He stays quiet and his eyes furrow together before relaxing, once more. He shrugs nonchalantly. 

      "Sorry." 

      He turns to leave the room and I hold my breath until he exits. He's not sorry. He never is. I grab a water bottle out of the fridge and make my way to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I quickly strip into my minion pajama pants. I got them when I was thirteen, but they still fit at nineteen. I turn off the light and climb into bed. When dad drinks we all stay in our own rooms. Even mom secludes herself to the bedroom and he drinks until he passes out on the couch. 

      He wasn't always this way. My dad used to hate drinking. His biological father drank and chose the bottle over his own family. My dad saw what it did to people and refused to turn into that type of person, but then his mother died. Now, he gets drunk every other night. I know it's to numb his pain, but it makes us endure even more. 

      I pull the comforter up under my chin and sink beneath the sheets. Things will go back to normal, soon. This won't last forever. I know it.

***

       I wake up in a sweat. Kicking the sheets away from me, I sit up. The darkness of the room keeps me trapped in the nightmare. I swear I see faces in the shadows. Faces with sharp teeth and misshapen features. Faces of those creatures that people tell horror stories about. I shudder and bravely step out of bed, knowing I won't be able to go back to sleep for a while. 

     I tiptoe out of the room and peek my head out. The dog is asleep in front of the couch. My father is passed out across the grey cushions. He snores loudly. Sneaking past him, I slide on my shoes. I place my phone in my pocket and slip out the front door. 

      The night air is mild, a nice change to the stifling heat of the day. I walk through the dimly lit darkness and hum quietly to myself. The abnormal nightmare soon drifts to the back of my mind as I take in the peace and quiet of the night. One good thing about living in the middle of nowhere is that it isn't loud. There aren't many people to bother you. The downside is that nothing exciting ever really happens. 

      The snapping of twigs brings my attention to the abandoned house. I stop walking and watch silently. I can't see any movement in the darkness but remain still. This time there is no mistake; a light comes on in the back window of the house. Someone is inside.