I Decided To Throw A Party While My Parents Were Gone, But The Horrific Things That Happened Made Me Wish They Never Left

Walking away from the driveway towards the darkness of the road was a man. I only saw the back of his body – dressed in jeans, a heavy neon yellow jacket and white sneakers with a bushy head of brown hair sloppily tucked underneath a red and black flannel cap. I didn’t get a great look at him, but definitely didn’t recognize him from behind.

Last night’s whiskey no longer kept me warm. My entire body went cold. My knees wobbled in my near-naked stance and every hair on my body stood up as if they wanted to run away from the terror in my heart and leave the blackness of the room.

My only salvation came in the red light of the alarm clock next to my bed which told me it was nearly five AM. Light would come soon. Sleep would not. I laid tightly tucked into my bed, clutching a switchblade a friend had brought back from Tijuana years ago until the sun came up and the setting of the world became less frightening.

I suddenly wished my parents were back home. Never thought that would happen. I considered calling or emailing them, but knew they probably wouldn’t get the message all the way down in the Bahamas for a day or two. I didn’t call the cops yet about what happened. What was I going to say? I thought I saw some guy who I have no idea who he was walking away from our house last night who may have been setting off the auto light in the driveway night’s before? By the way, I am having underage drinking parties at my house every night as well.

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