Murder in the Dark

Flash Fiction by Catherine Conlin, 16

It was pitch black. No one could see anything. I grasped around for something to hide behind. I wouldn’t be safe otherwise. They were coming for me. Hunting me down, they would kill me and leave silently—just as they did to my sister the night before.

I couldn’t run away—no, that would be stupid. It was almost impossible to travel without making noise when walking, and running for sure would just attract more attention. I backed myself into a corner, hoping no one would be able to reach me there.

My eyes slowly grew used to the dark, but the most I could see were the silhouettes of all the participants. Someone was inching closer to me. Even in the dark I could tell the person knew exactly where I was. But I couldn’t escape. The one place I had thought was safe, wasn’t. I crouched down, arms above my head.

“It’s okay.” The person whispered above me. “I’m not a murderer.” I wouldn’t trust them, it wasn’t safe. I knew murderers tried to gain others trust by saying those words, and I wasn’t about to fall for it. I crawled underneath the legs of a table and made it to the other side, where I stood up. The person was right behind me.

I bit my lip and made my way across the room, hoping it would be “day” soon again. I glanced around, looking for any dead bodies. I saw none. I kept moving. I needed to hide - sooner rather than later.

Suddenly, I heard a thump behind me. The hairs on my neck stood straight up as I spun around, hands above my head to protect myself. There was no one in sight. I looked down. There, by my feet, was the person who had been following me.

“Murder in the dark!” I shouted. The lights flicked on and revealed three giggling children lying on the floor.