I allowed shivers to move rapidly down my spine as I pressed my back firmly against the wall, hoping that I would become one with the crude, hard concrete. I steadied my breaths, attempting to silent the rasp, heavy breathing that filled the room, my ears, and with little hope, not the ears of my pursuer. I watched the wooden door that seemed paper-thin, which could be the only thing between me and my sure death. The brass door knob turned, and cowardly, I shifted my back to the door, fearing the sight of the killer waiting. I felt a cool breeze, I heard a bone-chilling scream, I heard a soft, kind voice, and then I felt as if I was being pressed to death by huge boulders, the whole time a sweet, melodic voice spoke to me. Then, I simply died.
Yells, to get my attention, awoke me. I began sobbing, until I realized I was on the phone, and I had to live a nightmare, all over again. “Hello, Cilia are you okay? What’s wrong, did you hear what I asked?“ I did not know whether to choke up, continue my sobs, or answer her. I began to sob, but found myself replying, rather harsh and frigid. “NO, I DO NOT WANT TO COME UP TO THE RANCH, EVER!!!!” I inhaled profoundly then exhaled with great effort, and then I picked up the cool phone and pressed my fingers against the phone buttons, slowly to call my sister. I enjoyed every second of having complete control, but I felt truly insane. This being the third time I’ve died, this time I am going to confront my fears head on, so they do not hunt me down, again. Two times I’ve said no to going to the ranch, and two times I’ve been hunt down, and dragged to the ranch by fear alone. This time is the last time, I die.
Dana, I apologize I am just not having the best day; I announced almost sounding a bit sane. “I would love to go to the ranch” I gushed, through clenched teeth. She ignored my moment that she believed to be psychotic, but I knew was the only, sane reaction. Then she told me the day, the worst day, the day that will never be printed as my final days on my gravestone that will never be. I feel stuck in time, hearing the date repeating continuously, in my head engraving itself, February 2nd.
The pebble driveway led to the barn and the house. Before I ever knew what would happen, good memories arose of my parents and Dana and I, but now I felt disgust and sorrow and pity for, myself. My eyes laid upon the porch, that I envisioned blood stained, the door smeared with bloody fingerprints, and the smell of dirty pennies which would describe the stench of blood I imagined hung in the air. I approached the porch confident, but as my fingers hovered above the door knob, I couldn't touch it for I knew that later this would be the same door a young woman, a stranger that haunts my visions would fall and the knob, will be the last thing she feels before death. Unless someone could change the future, someone that has knowledge of the future and is stuck reliving the past, someone like me, but not me for this person must have courage. Which is a characteristic I do not possess for, my hands were shaking and my knees about to buckle, and its just a door. A door, that leads to my hell. Besides, I am supposed to die, I know this from the vivid images that fill my head as I sleep and with it the pain as well. I grasped the door firmly, I am not going to wake up in screams again. Something is going to change, I have absolutely nothing to lose, not even my life. The door creaked open, the lights flickered off, and all was silent for a moment until the expected abruption.
