Page 26 of The Anti-Heroes Collection

Someone broke into my house.

But I was only gone for fifteen minutes.

All the nerve endings in my body become hyperaware. I tilt my head, straining to hear. It’s silent, but I can’t shake the possibility that someone might still be in my house.

Am I being robbed?

Goose bumps break out across my arms.

My phone’s vibrations echo through the house.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello? Is there anyone there?”

No sound.

I hang up, fully on edge now.

A phone call. A break-in.

I need to call the police.

This sounds far-fetched even to me.

Plus, I might have left the window open myself.

Which reminds me, I need to close it. Then I need to make sure it’s locked. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. Either way, I can’t seem to control the heavy beats of my heart.

Reaching my hand out, I try to shut the window, but the lock won’t click no matter how hard I push.

I’ll have to get that fixed. For now, I grab some duct tape and fix it over the window, taping it up like I’m sealing off the house for fumigation.

I really should call the police, but maybe it was me that left the window open. Why would anyone break-in? I have nothing of value.

Before I can think better of it, I bolt up the stairs to my bedroom, needing to double-check nothing is missing.

Once in my room, I take stock of the space.

My heart pounds. I glance around.

I let out a long, audible sigh. Again, nothing is out of place. I approach my desk next, slowly. Nope. All the papers are still in their usual spot.

But the lid of my laptop is open.

Did I leave it open?

I can’t remember. Why is it you can never remember anything when you need to? But I think I closed it this morning.

I must have

Right?

The following week goes by, and I never find anything out of the ordinary in my house. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Even this morning, it felt like I was being watched on my walk to school.

An unspoken presence floats over me like a spooky ghost. That, coupled with the endless wrong phone calls I keep getting . . . it’s starting to feel like I’m in a bad ’80s horror flick. I’ve been cast as the idiot girl, walking into the dark house, ready to be murdered.

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