Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Which brings me to the present day, six years later, and I’m earning my own money, it’s not a lot. There’s a sense of independence when you realize you can buy anything you want, you have to put the hours in. I think back to the times I spent hours in the garden back in our small town, and I wonder what would have happened had my mother not taken the job offer in the city.
The shit hole I grew up in is now nothing more than a memory. Mom’s job brought us to the City of Angels—Los Angeles. She didn’t want to leave Holbrook, but we needed to get out of the one horse town.
I open the fridge to find an array of delicacies stacked high on the shelves. Our home isn’t as lavish as this one, but we do all right. I pick out some strawberries and a cola before settling back on the sofa.
Thankfully, the kids have turned in for the night. The Hendersons have been good to me, and tonight, they promised to pay me double since their eldest son is back from college and they’re taking him out. I never met him, but I’m sure he’s spoiled from what I’ve seen the twins have.
Suddenly, the landline buzzes loudly, breaking the monotonous mumbling from the television, causing me to jump. It hardly ever rings. But the Hendersons sometimes have clients call, which they mentioned may happen. Mr. Henderson told me it’s linked to his office which means it could be something important.
I pick it up with a fake smile on my face. “Hello, the Hendersons,” I greet. There’s silence in response, and I wonder if whoever it was hung up, but when I’m about to hang up, I hear breathing. The sound has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“Hello, little sitter.” A deep, raspy voice comes through the line sending ice through my veins. I glance at the television and have to suppress my giggle. It has to be one of my friends playing around since I’m watching some stupid teen horror movie.
My heart thuds against my ribs and my stomach twists with fear. “Who is this?”
“The kids are in danger, little sitter,” the stranger whispers, and it’s as if I can feel his hot breath against my skin causing my stomach to convulse as acid climbs up to my throat.
“Stop being an asshole,” I bite out, but laugh when I hear the deep breathing. “Josh, is that you?” Silence greets me back, and fear slowly snakes its way through my veins. “Josh?” But even as I whisper his name, I know it’s not him. Call it intuition, but my gut tells me the person on the other end of the line is some fucked up weirdo.
“Get out of the house because I’m coming for them, little sitter,” the voice says, and I’m sure I’m dreaming. Or having a nightmare because this can’t be real. Things like this only happen in movies. I want to laugh, to call this person’s bluff, but something deep in my gut tells me not to.
“Who is this?” I ask again, this time, fear hits me right in the gut.
“They will die, and you can’t stop it,” he says, and for a moment, I think I recognize the deep gravely tone. I almost want to call out and say Dad, but I don’t because he left. He doesn’t know where we are. Also, why would he try to scare me.
“Listen, I don’t know what game—”
A crash comes from upstairs and I drop the phone, racing up the steps to the second floor where I find the stairwell window shattered into a million pieces. On the floor at my feet is a brick. The dark red confirms it’s from the garden maze where the kids play.
“Shit.” I turn left and head for the twins’ bedroom. They’re asleep when I rush into the room. I shake them both. “Wake up,” I call out to them, panic rises in my chest as a continuous thud echoes from out in the hallway.
“What’s happening?”
“Get up. Quickly,” I bite out as frustration takes a hold of me. We can’t go out into the hallway, so I push both sleepy boys into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. They haven’t realized the fear in my stance yet since they’re both barely awake, and I pray they don’t see it because I’ve never been so afraid before.
I check my pockets and realize I left my phone on the sofa. “Shit.”
“Shit?”
“Don’t say that,” I tell Anwar who looks as confused as his brother. I’ve been looking after them for a couple of months. I’ve never had an intruder in the house before—in any of the homes I’ve sat in—so this has me panicking.
“What’s—?” His question is thwarted by the crashing of items in the bedroom, and I have to pull the boys into my arms as we sink to the floor. Tears race down my cheeks, both kids are shaking against me, and all I can do is pray whoever the fuck is in the house doesn’t make it to this door.