Whelp

I turn onto my side with a soft huff, tucking my elbow beneath my head as I stare into the oppressive darkness of the wall across from me. A soft sigh escapes my lips.

Those stupid messages from the author have wormed their way into my thoughts. The feeling of imminent dread clings to me and it only worsens my stress-ridden migraine. I don’t know what the author has planned for me.

And since she’s veered completely off the original storyline, I have no idea what could possibly happen.

A thud from the window jolts me upright. What was that?

I strain my ears, waiting for another sound, but the silence that follows is thick and suffocating. My skin prickles with unease. I groan, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Seriously? Is the author just toying with me now?

I sink back onto the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin as if they could somehow shield me from whatever is coming.

The door to my parents’ room creaks open. Heavy footsteps tread past my door, descending the stair