_At last!_

I snap shut my spiral notebook. I had promised this was the final piece of the horror genre I'd be authoring. Each time I complete a story, the silence in my apartment becomes even more unsettling, and the solitude becomes more troubling.

I went to the kitchen just outside my bedroom door to make popcorn when the sound of the bathroom faucet streaming struck me. I concluded it was a strange coincidence because the craving for popcorn emerged from my final chapter, but the faucet running was ironic. I crept into the dark bathroom and immediately turned the knobs, assuring myself the faucet was now off.

For a strange reason, I looked behind the shower curtain and saw nothing but my coconut-scented shampoo.

_This is just ridiculous, Carley. It would be best if you had some sleep._

I let out a small laugh and continued toward the popping noises in the kitchen. I jumped when a shadow appeared to slide across the kitchen sink, prompting me to look behind me. Just then, the TV turned on, and the 11’o'clock news was blasting at total volume:

"The police urge you to call them immediately if you observe any suspicious activity," the anchor declared as I leaned towards the remote resting on the couch. I paused as the camera focused on images of three masked individuals.

_What is happening? Am I being spied on? Those are the same masks from my novel!_

_ _

I shook the thought from my mind, and before I could make it to the microwave, a soft humming came from the corner of the dark living room.

When I glanced over, absolute terror consumed me.

An elderly woman with silver hair, wearing a white buttoned shirt covered in a pink cardigan, sat in a rocking chair, crocheting a blue garment.

“Who—who are you?” I muttered.

The humming gradually seized as the woman dropped the crochet needles to her lap.

“You should know who I am, Carley,” the woman smiled a toothless grin that jolted me to my core,

“You created me. I’m Mrs. Sherman, the old witch in the creepy house.”

The woman cackled, throwing her head in a backward motion before returning to her crocheting and resumed humming.

_I have to be dreaming. I'm in a dream!_

I tried earnestly to convince myself, wiping my eyes with my palms.

When my vision focused, the woman stood right in front of me.

I shrieked and ran towards the kitchen for a knife, where three masked men were standing at the edge of the counter.

“Boys,” the elderly woman said, looking at them joyfully,

“Please be careful with this one. She’s quite pretty, no?”

The intruders nodded in agreement before slowly walking toward me.

Thinking quickly, I ran toward the basement, where I kept the washing machine and dryer. There was a door down there that exited toward the backyard, and I'd be able to escape.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I darted toward the exit, noticing it was locked from the opposite side.

The stairs began to creak with footsteps, and I slid behind the boiler.

“Carly…?” the woman asked as all four intruders continued down the staircase.

I noticed the Borax next to the fabric softener and was immediately reminded of my novel. I decided to run for it, and when the foursome was in arms reach, I shook the box of Borax as fiercely and accurately as possible, letting out a large grunt.

The four immediately sizzled to the ground in a poof of powdery soap.

When I could see again, I was suddenly sitting in my literature class.

“Carly?”

“Huh?” I responded, confused and breathless.

It was my professor, Mr. Jones.

“Your novel, did you finish it last night?”

I sat at my table, stunned, staring down at the final copy.

I slammed my notebook shut,

“No, I uhh- I need another night if that's okay.”

He shook his head ashamedly and walked back toward the whiteboard.

“Okay, class. Next week, we start our observation of Shakespeare,” Mr. Jones glanced over toward me as if to mock me.

“Please be prepared.”

I reached for my bookbag, trying to understand what had just happened while other students shuffled to their next class.