I could hear footsteps behind me, but when I turned around, no one was there.

I swear I could hear the old floorboards creak, even when I was standing like a stone statue. The only reason I came downstairs was because the house went pitch black; the electrical panel was located downstairs.

My mother and I moved into this house about 2 weeks ago, and since then I have felt something off and not how you would imagine. My mother loves all old, Victorian houses, so as you would presume, that’s why we are here today. As I continued taking the tiniest of baby steps, I still heard the sound following me, not leaving.

Once I finally reached the panel, the rusted metal board that should have sealed it shut was missing, the panel swung open. I gasped, neither me nor my mother had ever been in the basement since the realtor gave us the tour. I should know since both my mother and I are not big at exploring, especially black basements.

To my knowledge nobody has been down here. I laughed, the silliest idea floated around in my head.

What if whatever it is never left?

I pinched myself, I couldn’t think of that “theory” for another second. Couldn’t even be possible, the house was up for sale for years… though… no, stop it! I finally looked at what I came down here for, the panel. Which seemed to have marks wrapped around the red wires, teeth, no fangs? I have no idea but there was damage done to the panel, non-human, whatever did it.

I ran so fast; I flew up the stairs. Blackness hugged me. I raced to get to my mother to explain what I saw and what happened.

My mother’s room was on the 2nd level of the 116-year-old house. I was losing air but determined to explain to my mother what happened. I arrived at her room, empty. Wait, no that’s not right, she barely leaves her room, only for meal times, but it’s 3 in the afternoon. The bathroom, then… which the room, is a master; the bathroom is right connected to it. She would hear me yell “Mom,” and peek her head around.

That didn’t happen. 

I ran back down stairs, now having trouble not tripping over items in the dark, yelling “Mom!”

*thud*

I tripped over a … wait… what?

I can’t make out what the “item” is, the darkness swept my vision. I swear… no? It can’t be, a hand? I must be hallucinating. There’s no way.

My vision is blurring, tears filling my eyes. A light turns on, in the kitchen, I think. I stumble and pick myself up again, pushing myself to see what is going on. How could a light turn on? I gasp.

My mother… she’s alive.

“Hello honey,” she says in a rather raspy, deep voice, not hers.

Her eyes, not the same jade green-ish they always have been.

Wait this doesn’t make sense, that hand? Whose hand?

The lights start to flicker. My “mother” disappears.

Zoey is a 6th grade writer.