Scara

You sit in the backseat of the car, your unc and auntie driving you to someone’s house because they have to go on vacation without you. You can’t go, so now you’re stuck spending five days at some stranger’s place. That’s when you protest, a plead in your voice: “Unc! Do I have to go?”

Your unc just glances at you with that calm look. “Yes. It’ll be fine.”

You try your luck with your aunt. “Aunt!”

She responds in that annoyingly sweet voice, “It’s okay, sweetie, he’s awesome. You’re gonna have a good time.”

You just sit there with horror and shock on your face. You stare out the window, thinking, 'I don’t want to be here…'

But then you realize— ‘He’s awesome?’ "Wait, it’s a guy?! I’m not sleeping in the same house with a guy! Gross! Tell me who exactly!"

Your aunt stays calm, brushing you off like it’s no big deal. “Oh, you’ll be fine. It’s only five days.”

You glare out the window again. It feels like prison bars. As the house comes into view, for the hundredth time you say, I don’t want to stay! I just want to go home! You bark it out loud: “Take me home right now!” But they ignore you. How can they be so calm? Do they even get how creepy and dangerous this is? It’s right in the middle of the forest, AT NIGHT too.

When the car stops, they try to drag you out. You step out, digging your heels in, still arguing: “I don’t wanna stay! I just wanna go home!” But you know you don’t have a choice. Doesn’t stop you from trying. They grab both your arms and drag you to the front door. One last shot, you plead: “This is creeping me out! Take me home right now, I don’t wanna stay here—” but they shove you inside and slam the door behind you.

You glance around. The walls are old and stained, already giving you the creeps. “Uhm, hello!! I’m here!! I’m the one staying with you!!” you yell, rolling your eyes.

You look around for whoever lives here. On your left is the kitchen—god knows what horrors are in there. Every step you take makes the floor squeak so loud it makes you shudder. You have to stay here for five days, so you pop open the cabinets to see if there's anything to eat. And ugh—what smells like pickled feet? Still no answer from the mystery host. You decide to explore while you wait for a response, wandering deeper into the living room. The floorboards groan twice as loud with every step.

In the living room you find a busted TV. Great. How much worse can this get? Then you hear shuffling, metal clinking, hammering at the front door.

Your body freezes instinctively. It doesn't feel safe to check, so you force out a shout: “Uh, hello? Who are you?”

Nothing. Just the screwdriver and hammer sounds. Something’s wrong. Your gut tells you to check.

“What are you—” You cut yourself off when your foot hits a wire—RING. Some alarm goes off. You look up, and there they are. Hoodie, hammer, a bit of indigo hair peeking out, headphones. You connect the dots. Oh no. It’s that same creepy weirdo from school—

“HEY, YOU BOMBOCLAT! So it was YOUR auntie that’s friends with my aunt?! Why’s the front door locked up like Fort Knox, is this a joke?!” you hiss, gripping your luggage. Your hands sweat.

“Ah, wait a sec…” he says, way too calm, stuffing his tools away.

“WAIT?? ARE YOU SERIOUS?? What have you done?! I can’t believe I have to stay under the same roof with YOU, and now you’re trapping me here? I always knew you were—”

“And I knew you’d try to run.” He sneers. You bolt for the door. Doesn’t budge. It’s locked, wired, boarded up. He watches you like it’s pathetic. “LET ME OUT! And how did you know I was coming? My aunt didn’t say it’d be you! And they didn’t warn me it’d be the crappiest house ever!”

He drops the hoodie, showing that stupid bowlcut. “Shh. I know because they told me to do this. They know how misbehaved you are.”

You snap back. “LIAR!! Wait, why do you have a bat? What are you gonna do with that—get back!” You dig in your pockets for your phone, ready to call your aunt, the cops—anything.

But then you woke up in a room, sweating and confused, in an uncomfortable bed stained with old blood. The room stinks of damp wood and mold. The walls are rotting wood with peeling paint, like the place gave up years ago. A cracked window that barely lets in any light. A crooked table sits in the corner with some cheap vase—empty and pointless. Against one wall is an old wardrobe that looks ready to creak open by itself. A splintered workbench sits nearby with ‘5 days’ scratched into it, stained with god knows what. Aunt! Get me out of here… echoes in your mind. The warped grey floor groans under you. There’s a door, but you can’t trust it to keep anything out. The air is stale, damp, wrong.

And that’s when you remember for the eightieth time: You need to leave this house. You have five days. You don’t know what that creep has planned, but your gut says avoid him at all costs and not make any noise. Your head throbs. Oh you bet that crazy freak left a bruise. He was always the weird kid at school. Now you know why. You pat your pockets—no phone. Your stomach drops. Where did it fall? Shit. But that doesn't matter. That front-door needs to be unlocked so you can leave this house and escape this sick joke!