A joke via text. That was how it had started out.
I think I need to step back more. It wasn't just a text; it was something that'd been going on for the past six months. My old friend Eliza and I had been growing apart a little, ever since winter break in senior year. I didn't know what prompted it. How I had started dressing more like a punk singer ever since she got me that Twisted Titty CD, perhaps, or maybe it was her new boyfriend, that lanky clown Joe Corrente.
Either way, when she suddenly suggested another sleepover at the Zveroby House, I was all too happy to agree.
Yeah, you're probably wondering why we would consider sleeping over at the abandoned home of some crazy poet from Russia to be 'fun', but that was just something we did. I was always big on frights. If there was a new horror movie at the theater, or some haunted carnival in town, you'd bet that I'd be there, right at the front of the line.
I should've been suspicions when she asked me to do it that night, but I was just too happy at the prospect of spending quality time with my friend again. I didn't bother to change; I simply grabbed my pajamas, a sleeping bag, and a swiss army knife I'd gotten from my dad before he passed.
I only paused to check myself in the mirror I had on my room. I wasn't some blonde bombshell on legs, but I was still pleased with my appearance. Raven hair pulled into pigtails, with matching black lipstick that highlighted just how pale I was, and my black shirt and skirt complimented my thin form.
Well, thin in some areas. I was still uncomfortable with how large my breasts had gotten, especially when I went to buy new bras (hard to find 32DDD that weren't for grandmas), but at least it wasn't as bad as poor Jessica, who had to get surgery when she was seventeen due to the back pain.
I bounded down the stairs, only pausing to tell my mother that I was heading out, to which she simply responded with a grunt as she continued watching the tv. I pursed my lips at that, but it didn't stop me from leaving the house in a rush.
As I stepped out into the late afternoon sun, I could feel a stillness in the air. Even as the sun warmed my face, I could see dark clouds in the distance, promising thunder. I suddenly understood why Eliza was so keen on doing the sleepover tonight; the weather was perfect. It made me think of all the other times we'd spent in the house, listening to the thunder as we played games and told each other scary stories.
The weather started getting worse as I walked to the Zverogy House, and by the time I finally arrived at the rusted gate, the sky had turned the color of coal. I simply spent a few moments there, soaking it in. The mighty pine trees that ringed they yard swayed and rustled in the wind that had come with the clouds, and the dark, peeling walls of the Edwardian-style house before me perfectly complimented the weather.
Smiling to myself, I practically skipped up the beaten cobblestone path, and pulled out my Swiss army knife. Picking the tarnished lock was child's play, and the door slowly creaked open, revealing a desolate living room. Out in a desert town like my home, dust didn't collect easily, and so my sinus were unassailed as I hopped inside and shut the door behind me.
Considering the lack of light in the house, I knew Eliza hadn't arrived yet, but I didn't worry. She always arrived late. Instead, I simply made my way over to the hall in the middle of the house, the one with the portraits of some Russian artists whose names escaped me. Unfurling my sleeping bag, I set it down on the hardwood floor, then began changing into my bed clothes. Nothing fancy; just a black t-shirt and my pajama bottoms.
Sitting down in a lotus position on the sleeping bag, I pulled out my phone and opened my messaging app.
Where r u?
Almost there came the reply.
I frowned, then flopped down on the sleeping bag, arms spread wide. The cavernous ceiling loomed over me, and I could see a few motes of dust floating freely in the air, following chaotic paths. A distant rumble of thunder reached my ears, sending a pleasant shiver up my spine, and I closed my eyes.
I probably stayed there for a good ten minutes before a faint sound reached my ears, something that definitely wasn't from the weather. I sat back up, then grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, sweeping the beam across the hall.
Nothing.
I laid back down, then jumped when my phone buzzed. I opened the app, hoping it was Eliza, but it was just my mom telling me that she was going in for a late shift. Sighing, I decided to stand up and stretch my legs.
My phone buzzed again, and I was excited to see it was Eliza. That excitement faded rather quickly, however, when I saw the message.
Take off your shirt for me again, baby.
My eyes widened.
What? I replied. L, what's up?
No answer.
Biting my lip, I turned on my phone's flashlight and looked around again, listening for any more suspicious noises. Every shadow, every odd nook or cranny, had become a place that dark thoughts lurked in.
"Liz?" I called out, slowly tip-toeing through the hallway. "You there?"
There was a clap of thunder, far closer than before, and I jolted. Rain began to patter against the grimy windows, and I realized that it'd be a lot harder to listen in for anything moving around.
I decided to move down the hall, towards the back door; Liz sometimes came through there, especially if she was in a pranking mood. Yet the dust on the door was undisturbed when I shone my light on it, and I felt a chill across my back.
"This is pretty lame so far," I said aloud. "C'mon, Liz. You gonna pop out of the closet or something?"
To prove my point, I crept towards the other side of the house, where the old dining room was. The pantry door faced me, and I noticed some marks in the dust. Grinning despite my jitters, I slowly grasped the doorknob, and swung it open.
Empty.
My phone chose that time to buzz again, and I looked down at the message.
Got you.
I didn't have time to register it before a muscular arm wrapped around my neck, pulling me flush against a solid torso. I choked and wheezed, clutching uselessly at the arm as it pressed tighter against my throat.
"Hello, Katya," a breathy voice said in my ear, definitely a man. His other hand snaked up my torso, and I winched as he roughly grabbed my breast through the fabric of my shirt and bra. "Oooh, nice and ripe."
I could practically feel my pupils shrink in terror as I felt something hard poke at my backside, trying to snake between my asscheeks.
Oh god, I thought. Oh god, oh god oh god.
His hand let go of my breast, then went to grab at the hem of my shirt, and I suddenly realized my right arm was now free. Without any hesitation, I curled my hand into a fist and swung right into his groin as hard as I could.
The man grunted in pain, and the grip around my throat relaxed as he stumbled back. I rushed forward, only to stop again as his hand found my collar, and I was forced to slip out in order to get free. I dashed back into the hall and ran to the front door, twisting the handle, but there was no give, even as I put my weight into it.
I shoved against it again, then stopped when I heard movement in the dining room again. The man was recovering from my lucky escape. I decided to dash upstairs, then paused as I considered what room to hide in. I went inside the main bedroom, creating a set of tracks in the dust, then stepped out and made for the smaller guest room. It was a place I had hidden in before, when I was younger.
It was just in time. As soon as I disappeared into one of the closets, I heard heavy footsteps rising up the stairs. I pressed as far back into the wall as possible, heart pounding in my chest, and slowly reached for my Swiss army knife. Briefly, I considered calling 911, but even that could give me away.
"Katya," the voice cooed. "Where are you hiding?"
Even through the rain that pounded over the roof, I heard the floorboards creak as he followed the tracks into the main bedroom. If I stayed where I was, he was going to find me; I needed to change tactics.
Carefully, I began to pull the blade out from my Swiss army knife, then slowly, slowly, pushed the door open. The man was still in the main bedroom, accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass and creaking wood as he tore it apart. I glanced at the windows, and was not surprised to see that they had been bolted shut. So much for getting out that way.
I thought to the basement. There was a set of cellar doors there, meant to get people inside from the lawn in case of a really bad storm. Perhaps that was the key to escape.
Knife in hand, I tip-toed closer to the door of the guest bedroom, and took a deep breath. Then, I bolted for the stairs.
I was three steps away when I felt a hand reach for my hair, and I slashed backwards with the knife, hitting nothing but air. Still, it seemed to make him pause, and that was still good.
I tried for the stairs again, but he reached for my hair again. This time, as I swung the knife back, he caught my wrist and pressed his fingers into it in a way that made my hand spasm. The knife clattered to the floor, and I writhed in his grasp as he took my other wrist and brought it down as well. Now, he could hold my of my wrists in one hand, and the other grabbed the nape of my neck.
I found myself pressed against the wall, face smooshed against the dusty wallpaper. I couldn't even turn to see my assailant as he pressed against me. His erection, still noticeable through his pants, ground into my ass as he leaned in.
"Naughty girl, Katya," he said, pausing to lick my ear. "Not doing what you're told."
His hand let go of my nape, only to slide between me and the wall, caressing my flat stomach. I whimpered as his hand began to try and get into my pajama pants, only to feel his grip on my wrists loosen. In retrospect, he let that happen, but I still took the opportunity to break free and pushed against him. He staggered back, chuckling, and I ran again.
No looking back. I practically leapt down the stairs, slamming into the door, then frantically dashed for the basement. He hadn't come after me.
Yet, anyway.
I flung the door to the basement open, then dashed inside...
...and stopped.
