Bam!
A loud noise awoke me, just as I was about to fall asleep. I opened my eyes for a moment, then closed them again, listening carefully to the sounds from the house. Someone was walking up the stairs. The footsteps were too heavy to be Peter, too heavy and too slow to be Jacob, and too quiet to be dad; Ben normally didn’t get up in the middle of the night. That left mom. What might she be doing up here in the middle of the night? Curious, I listened. The footsteps reached the top, then opened the door to Peter’s room. And then…
BANG!
My eyes flashed open, I sat up, my heart in my throat. That was a gunshot!
More footsteps, this time quicker, from Ben’s room. Then I heard his door open. And then…
Bang!
Another gunshot, this time followed by a cry from Ben. And then a third, and then silence.
Oh gosh… what was going on? As quietly as possible, I stood up, walking toward the door. Before I could get there, the doorway across the hallway opened, and Jacob stepped out. I held out my hand, trying to stop him, but he didn’t see me. He stepped out into the hallway, rubbing his eyes, and glanced down the hallway. "What’s going – "
BANG!
My younger brother stopped speaking, glancing down at himself. Then he fell to the floor. I stifled a gasp.
And then… the footsteps were coming closer. Oh no oh no oh no… they had killed all my brothers, and now they were coming to kill me!
Whatdoido whatdoido whatdoido?! The closet is too far away, and there’s no way I could get under the bed in time. That left hiding behind the door. I stepped behind the door, listening in fear as the footsteps grew closer, closer… and then I could see him through the crack between the door and the doorframe. And I could see the gun in his hand.
My heart was pounding so loudly, I feared he would hear it. Now he was stepping into my room. I watched the edge of the doorway. The edge of the gun appeared…
Before I knew what I was doing, I reacted. My hand snapped forward, grabbing the gun, hitting his arm with the other hand. The gun went off, firing away from me. Then I tore the gun from the guy’s hand, turned around, and fired.
My shot struck him dead-center. He froze, and for a moment, our eyes met, and I could see the shock and pain in his eyes. Then he fell to the ground at my feet.
I stared at him lying there. My rush of adrenaline was beginning to fade, and I fell to my knees. I had killed him. He was dead, because of me. What had I done?
Slowly, my senses began to register things again. And now I realized that I could still hear footsteps, from downstairs. I froze. There were other people in the house.
A small part of me hoped that it was just my parents, that they had been awakened by all the noise. But if they were awake, they’d be either coming upstairs to see what all the noise was, or calling 911 because someone was shooting a gun.
Calling 911, of course. Slowly, I crept back to my bed, to the nightstand, grabbing my phone. Then I stopped. If there really were people in the house, wouldn’t they hear me if I called 911? Right now, they probably thought I was dead, that the other guy had killed me and not the other way around. But if they realized I was calling 911, they’d come upstairs and kill me.
I’d call 911, then set my phone on mute. Hopefully, they’d send someone out to my house to see what the problem was.
I dialed 911, setting the phone down on my bed. Then I listened to the footsteps downstairs. Without realizing it, I had aimed the gun at the door. If someone walked through that door, could I shoot them? Could I bring myself to kill another human?
Then a thought occurred to me, and I began counting the gunshots I’d heard in my head. One from Peter’s room, two at Ben’s, one to kill Jacob – I choked at the thought, glancing down at the body in the hallway – one when I grabbed the gun, and one when I killed the guy. I turned the gun toward the window and pulled the trigger.
Nothing. The gun was empty.
Then, suddenly, I heard a voice from the bottom of the stairs, though I couldn’t make out what it said. Then it came again, a bit louder this time.
“Steve! Are you done yet?”
A harsh whisper. That definitely wasn’t one of my parents.
Steve. That was the name of the guy now lying on the floor in my doorway. Somehow, knowing his name just made me feel worse. He was no longer just a monster coming into my room at night to kill me. He was Steve, a human named Steve.
And he had another gun on his hip.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I moved toward him. Reaching down, I grabbed the gun from his hip and pulled it out of the holster –
Bang!
I nearly jumped out of my skin when it went off. Well, at least I knew the gun was loaded. I was protected now. If someone else came after me, I’d… I’d do what I had to do. I’d worry about what I’d done later, if I lived that long.
The sound of the gunshot had apparently convinced the guy at the bottom of the stairs that Steve wasn’t done, and I could hear him moving away from the stairs.
Where were my parents? Had the invaders already killed them? I remembered the loud noise that had initially woken me up. That was before Steve had come upstairs. No…
For what felt like forever, I sat there on my bed, the gun in my hands aimed at the open door, listening to the footsteps downstairs. There were at least two people down there. What were they doing? Looting the house?
Why?! Why were they coming after us? Why us?
Then the footsteps came back to the stairs. The voice returned “Steve, we need to go.”
I sat silently, not moving a muscle.
“Steve!”
What do I do? I can’t answer, and I’m too scared to move. This guy’s gonna come up and check on Steve in a few more seconds. I’m doomed.
Footsteps, coming up the stairs. He’s coming. My heart is pounding, my hands shaking so badly I fear that I might miss if I try to shoot anything.
Now he’s at the top of the stairs… he’s coming down the hallway. “Steve!” he calls again. At this point, I’m not even breathing.
He’s coming closer, closer… the first thing I see is the tip of the gun. Then his hand. And I fire.
Miraculously, I manage to hit his hand. He cries out, dropping the gun, and it clatters to the floor. Now the other pair of footsteps is running, toward the stairs. They’ve realized I’m still alive, and they’re coming to kill me.
Bam!
This time, it isn’t a gunshot, but the sound of a doorway being opened roughly. And then – “Police!”
It was the police, they were finally here.
There was a gunshot, then another, and another. And then silence. Only more footsteps. These weren’t quiet, like before. This was the cops. They had stopped the third guy. I was safe. I was about to call out to them when I noticed something.
The second guy, the one I had shot in the hand, was lying on the floor, but still alive. He had gotten his gun with his left hand, and was now aiming it at me. “Die.”
A gunshot rang out, then another, and another. It took me a moment to realize they were from me. I kept firing until the gun was empty. Now the guy lay still.
Footsteps were rushing up the stairs. I heard several cries of surprise from the cops, no doubt at seeing the bodies lying all over. Then finally, a cop stepped around the corner.
“Are you all right?” A woman’s voice. “Put the gun down, it’s all right.” I realized I was still pointing the gun at the doorway. Taking a few deep breaths, I finally lowered my arm, dropping the gun. I winced at a sudden pain in my arm. Apparently, that last guy had gotten off a shot before I blasted him.
Dimly, I remember collapsing. I remember the policewoman telling the others I was injured. I remember being carried downstairs. But one thing I remember in particular.
Eight people dead. One intruder killed by the cops, two killed by me, both my parents, and my three brothers. I was the only survivor.
My whole family was dead.
Afterword
So, this is actually a scene from the origin story of another story’s main character, but I like the scene on it’s own, too. I needed a scene where my main character’s family dies, and I wanted it to be as scary as possible. I think I succeeded.
boo
~W12~