Angela's Experience: A Narrative Fiction

It took a moment for Angela’s eyes to adjust enough to the newfound darkness. She realized there was moonlight filtering through the windows. It was enough to give a vague outline of her surroundings. She heard those footfalls again, but from Lillian, she heard nothing.

She considered running out the front door, but she’d come too far and was in too deep. Now that things were in play, she might never find out who killed Lil if she bailed.

She lunged to the left and leapt on the couch, throwing herself over it and behind it. From the side, she had a good enough vantage point of the stairs and a decent view into the kitchen. She heard the footfalls approach and start down the stairs. Even from her hidden place, she felt a wave of fear and nausea

Never had a voice sounded so sweet to her. So needed. She hadn’t let herself feel how much she felt guilty about her sister until that point.

A soft sound of nails dragged against the grain of the wood on the door.

“Run, Angie,” her little sister whispered through the keyhole. “He’s coming.”

From downstairs the basement door slammed open and Angela heard it hit the wall. It had to have been hard enough to ruin the plaster. She heard rapid footfalls approaching, as if someone was running.

Angela dove for her bedroom, running inside and locking the door. She ran to the other side of the room and cowered behind her bed on all fours.

She listened for the footfalls to appear outside of her door but she never heard a sound. After about ten minutes of kneeling and wiping tears and snot from her face, she fished out her cell phone. There was only one person she knew of to call in this situation. Squinting to see the readout, she dialed the number and waited. The woman answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Angela,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

Angela’s voice was shaky and she was short of breath. “Viviana, if you can, get over here. I need you. I think I did something