2000+ Point Scary Story Contest -- LiveWire Teen Forums

I love h-
The night was cold. There was no denying that. Strands of ice hung long from the naked trees like sugar-spun swords. Frozen snow, unmarked, lined the suburban ground. Snowplows came and went to no avail�the blizzard just fell harder to accommodate for its loss.

I lay in my bed alone for the night. My parents had not yet come back from work�it seemed they stayed later and later as the days grew shorter, as if companies suffered from the loss of daylight hours and needed work further into the night. It was 10:30, and still, I hadn't heard their cars pull up.

The phone rang, I stiffened. It was not altogether unusual for the phone to ring at such a time of night�it could have been my parents calling, finally, my best friend with a new crush she was dying to tell me about, it could have been my grandmother with her newest worry about our safety. But I was not expecting the voice I heard on the other end of the line that night.

"Karen, it's Uncle Marc," somehow made it's way though the static and into my phone. "Are you okay?"

What did he mean? Uncle Marc had no other relatives and mostly kept to himself, only calling about small things�questions about cooking, or comments on the rise and fall of stocks. Never anything worrying. And never at this time of night.

"Karen?" His voice grew panicked.

"Uncle Marc, what's wrong?" I tried to sound nonchalant, like I wasn't all that scared, but the truth was, my knees were shaking so hard I had to sit on my bed.

"They're coming. You have to hide. Go to the basement, to the storm cellar, and stay there with the phone until I call you and tell you otherwise."

"Why?" I asked, "What happened?" But all I heard on the other line was the click and whirr which meant the call had been disconnected.

I gathered up my belongings slowly. Each time I thought I was done packing, I realized another thing that I had to take. My teddy bear, of course. I'd slept with him since I was two, he'd been with me through everything. My glasses. A book, in case I had to wait for a while. Make that two books. A flashlight, the big kind. On second though, the little kind too. A notebook and pen. Three pens. Some energy bars, water. My parka.

Finally, I was done packing, and I walked downstairs, out the door, into the double doors which marked my storm cellar. I dropped the stuff off, only to realize that I'd forgotten a phone. I hurried up the ladder again, my feet quiet, just in case somebody was listening. But it hadn't quite hit me yet, the gravity of the situation.

I went into the kitchen to get an extension of the phone, and it seemed unnaturally bright in there. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow, the wood floor shined beneath my feet, and the window curtains were a bright red. I grabbed the extension from the blue linoleum counter, and was on my way out the door when I heard a blast of music coming from the kitchen stereo. I hadn't TOUCHED the kitchen stereo.

It was one of those moments, you know, where you just freeze. My heart was punching through my chest, rising up into my through, into my ears. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to run, but I couldn't move. I couldn't turn, couldn't walk, couldn't count to three.
The music continued to play�it was an old folk tune that my dad had on a CD�and after a few seconds, it hit a skip. The voice of the singer repeated, "I love h-, I love h-, I love h-, I love h-," It made my heart beat faster, just the sound of that skipping tape.

I turned, finally�it was better then to run. There was no one in front of me. I scanned the kitchen, looking for somebody�something hiding under the table, in the cabinet, in the dishwasher, even, but there was nobody�it was absolutely still.

I picked up the phone in my hands to dial 911, walking as I dialed. There were three rings, but no answer. A fourth ring. I could still hear over the ringing, the muffled voice: "I love h-, I love h-, I love h-," and I felt really, really alone. Finally, a recording came on, after what must have been 30 rings, that told me the number I was trying to reach was no longer in service. By this time I was outside of the house, the phone connection was staticky but still worked�my mom had paid to have the connection reach into the storm cellar.

The music in the kitchen stopped�the recording stopped�the snow stopped as I climbed down the ladder and into the storm cellar, locking the double doors behind me.

It was only when I was four rungs down that I noticed the blood that was on each one. I shrieked, recoiled, but I was too high up to jump. Down, I went, one foot after another, ignoring the sickening puddles that were overflowing with my palms.

And then, as I neared gingerly down, I placed my hand on something hard�I lifted it, it was a tooth. Covered in blood, it was yellowed, rotted. I retched, shrieked. This...was too much. Whose tooth had I found? Who had been in here? What was going on? My shrieks turned to screams as I sat there and flung the tooth down to the floor. I looked down, and jumped the rest of the way to the floor, hysterical. I turned around, searched the storm cellar.

It was empty. Silent. Nothing was there--you could hear a pin drop, the snow cast a quieting blanket on any nighttime noises, so all I could hear was my breathing. And something in the distance...a high pitched sound...maybe a beeping? I winced, froze still, but soon relaxed as I looked at the locked storm cellar door.

I'm sitting here, writing this, now. I don't know what to do. My uncle didn't pick up the phone when I called him, and I got the same recording I got when I called the police--the number was no longer in service. Same for my parents. Same for my best friend. The operator lines just keep ringing. Nobody picks up. I even tried calling random numbers--some just kept ringing, some were disconnected.

I'm hoping that if I don't make it, somebody, someday, will read this, will find the last trace of me, this notebook. It doesn't say much, I know. I didn't tell about what I wanted to do when I grow up, the places I wish I'd seen. It doesn't say how I feel about my best friend, how amazing she is, or how much I love my family. I didn't describe how I looked. How I wanted to look. My hopes and my fears aren't in here. But at least it tells a story. And somewhere when day breaks maybe something will change. Maybe I'll climb up the ladder and look out of the cellar doors. Maybe I'll fight whatever this is.

I'll put one last message in this entry, one last thing that is part of me so that I'm never fully lost.
I love you. I love you Mom, Dad, Uncle Marc, I love you Grandma, I love you Grandpa, I miss you Nana and Papa. I love my friends, my pets. I love you all, and I want you to know that if I don't make it tonight, I'll miss each of you so much. So much. Last words have never been my strong suit, and I don't know why I am taking the time. You probably won't read it anyway. But if you do and if I am gone, know that nothing is forever and I could not have been forever. When somebody dies you act as if they had so much prospect. But if I die, I'll die fighting. I won't live for no reason.

I guess this is goodbye, maybe. I love you.

-Karen Mills, 7th grade, age 12
New Rochelle, NY
USA

Post edited at 2:16 pm on Nov. 16, 2008 by noraa

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