Blood Slushy

Snowflakes glittered in the moonlight as they floated to the ground. My breath fogged the windowpane as I gazed out at the freshly fallen snow—no traces of humans or animals on the powder. Snow was forecast for the next hour, and we were expecting 7 inches total. I sighed as I backed away from the window and collapsed on the bed. It was nearing midnight, and my thoughts had begun to spiral. One thought blended into another, crashing together until there was nothing but a blizzard within my brain. Soon, exhaustion took me away to sleep.

Whoosh. My eyes blinked open, and icy wind whirled its way into my room. Confused, I looked and noticed my window had been broken, sparking a sense of unease. I stepped out of bed and looked near the window, and saw shards of glass scattered around a fist-sized stone, deepening the mystery.

As my hand reached to grab the stone, I heard the sharp, unmistakable sound of snow crunching beneath someone's boots, each step echoing in the silent night. I crouched below my window and peered over the lip, heart pounding.

A tall, dark, hooded figure with an indistinct face was walking around to the backside of my house, their movements slow and deliberate. I contemplated waking my parents, but I didn’t want to worry them if it was just some teenager from my high school trying to scare me. Besides, they were heavy sleepers and would brush me off this late at night.

I slipped into some slippers, pulled a jacket over my One Direction pajamas, and grabbed a flashlight from my drawer. I hurried down the hall into the bathroom to get a better look. I hoisted myself onto the vanity and lifted a slat in the blinds.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did, I found the figure standing below the window. In an instant, his face tilted up. There were no features beneath the hood, yet I felt the whites of his eyes lock onto mine. A slow, deliberate stillness — like he’d been waiting for me to look.

I dropped the slat and backed away from the window. Fear vibrated through me, making my hands tremble. My mouth refused to work. It was as if I were trapped in a nightmare, wide awake, but unable to scream.

I stood frozen, unsure what to do next — when a sound fractured the silence.

The doorknob downstairs rattled violently, metal grinding against metal. Someone was testing the lock.

My eyes widened. I turned my head toward the staircase, afraid even of the shift in air around me.

The noise came again, this time from the door leading into the kitchen.

Now I must get Mom and Dad.

My slippered feet slid along the wood-paneled floor as I rushed to their bedroom. I pounded on the door, glancing behind me every few seconds, convinced that at any moment he would appear — arms reaching.

A groan. Footsteps. The door swung open, revealing my dad, squinting in confusion.

“Dad!” I gasped. “There’s someone outside! They broke my window — they’re trying the locks!”

His expression sharpened. No hesitation.

He spun back into the room, shrugged into his robe, jammed his feet into boots, and snatched the pistol from his nightstand.

Relief flooded through me like warmth after frostbite. If anyone could stop a threat, it was my dad.

He thundered down the stairs — two steps at a time — and the front door flew open. A blast of freezing air surged up toward us, rattling the light fixture.

Mom jolted awake. She grabbed my wrist and tugged me inside.

“Close the door,” she hissed.

I twisted the lock and stumbled to the bed, tears finally spilling hot and fast. We sat shoulder-to-shoulder, barely breathing, straining to hear anything below.

Seconds stretched into forever.

Then—three soft knocks against our door.

“Oh thank God,” Mom exhaled, already rising.

I rushed ahead of her, fumbling the lock with shaking fingers, and swung the door wide—

My dad stood there.

His own gun pressed to the side of his head.

Not by his hand.

A dark-cloaked arm was wrapped around his chest from behind.

The intruder was in the room.

Already inside and in control.

My dad’s chest rose and fell fast beneath the intruder’s arm. The gun pressed against his head made my stomach flip. I could see a vein pulsing in Dad’s neck like it was about to burst.

“Sit down,” the man ordered. His voice reverberated off the walls.

Mom and I backed up until the backs of our legs hit the bed. We sat, our hands raised, our eyes glued to the gun.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” the intruder said. “I just need what’s in the safe.”

Dad shook his head carefully. “There is no safe. You’ve got the wrong house.”

The intruder’s jaw twitched.

Crack!

He hit Dad with the gun so hard the sound punched the air out of my lungs. Dad crumpled to his knees. I screamed, but Mom’s arms were already around me, holding me still.

“Don’t lie to me!” the man shouted. His breaths came fast and uneven. “You think I’m stupid? Every house like this has a safe.”

“We’re not lying,” Mom pleaded, her voice shaking.

The intruder pointed the gun at her.

We froze.

“Get up,” he snapped at Dad.

Dad pushed himself to his feet. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look scared. He just looked at me like he wished he could fix everything right then and there.

“Downstairs,” the man demanded. “You’re gonna show me.”

Dad nodded once and started walking.

The intruder kept the gun against Dad’s back and followed him out the bedroom door.

Before they disappeared down the stairs, Dad glanced over his shoulder.

Not a goodbye nor reassurance. Just a look that said, I’m sorry.

Mom and I stayed on the bed like we were glued there. My legs felt like they’d turned to concrete. I strained to hear anything over the loud pounding of my heartbeat.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs.

Then silence.

The kind of silence that feels wrong.

After a full minute of holding our breaths, the intruder’s voice exploded through the quiet.

“Open it! Now!”

Something slammed downstairs—maybe a drawer, maybe Dad into a wall. I couldn’t tell. I flinched so hard the bed shook beneath us.

“I told you,” Dad’s voice called back, rough and pained. “There. Is. No. Safe.”

The intruder cursed so loudly it rattled the floor vent under our feet. Mor crashing ensued, sounding like a lamp falling—cabinets opening and closing.

He was tearing through everything like a tornado made of fear and rage.

Mom’s hand found mine and squeezed so hard my fingers tingled. I didn’t pull away. I needed her grip to stay grounded.

Then the intruder shouted again, this time closer.

“You’re lying! You think you can fool me? You think I won’t—”

A loud crash cut him off. Something heavy hit the floor. Dad’s pained grunt followed, sharp and short.

That’s when my vision blurred with tears again. I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep from screaming his name.

Mom slowly leaned forward and whispered in my ear, her voice trembling.

“If he comes back up here… run.”

My breath caught. Run where? Outside? Into the snow? Into the dark where the nightmare first began?

Before I could ask anything, the intruder’s boots stomped up the stairs again. Mom wrapped an arm across my shoulders protectively.

Every creak of the steps got louder, closer.

My heart dropped into my stomach as his shadow stretched beneath the door. The doorknob twitched, then rattled before slowly turning.

The bedroom door flew open before we even moved. The intruder shoved Dad inside ahead of him. Dad stumbled, clutching his side, blood soaking through his robe.

“Get over here!” the man snapped at Mom. He pointed the gun at her this time.

She held up her hands and stepped closer.

Dad caught my eye for a split second. In his eyes or telepathically, he gave me a message. Don’t run.

The intruder scanned the room, breathing hard like he’d run miles.

“You,” he growled, pointing the gun at me. “Where’s your phone?” My lungs seized. Mom stepped in front of me.

“She’s just a kid,” she said quickly. “Please—leave her out of this.”

The intruder shoved the barrel into Mom’s forehead.

“Answer,” he demanded, eyes glued to me.

I forced the words out. “It’s…in my room.”

He jerked his head toward the hall. “Then go get it.”

Mom grabbed my hand, shaking her head tiny inches. Don’t.

But I knew what Dad’s look meant.

If anyone had a chance, it was me.

My room with the broken window, and possible way out.

I took a shaky step.

“You just try anything,” he warned, pressing the gun harder to Mom’s skull, “and I’ll paint these walls with her brains.”

I nodded.

One step. Then another.

Walking toward danger was the only chance we had.

Behind me, Mom choked out a sob she tried to smother.

Dad whispered hoarsely, “You’re okay. …do what he says.”

The intruder watched me like a starving wolf watching a rabbit.

I crossed the threshold into the hallway, palms sweating.

My room door was open, with the broken glass glittering on the floor like ice.

The cold air bit at my skin.

And there my phone lay on the bed. My fingers closed around my phone. It was ice-cold and slick with condensation from the open air. I backed up to the wall, out of sight from the hallway. My hands shook so badly that I almost dropped it.

I unlocked the screen, praying the tiny sound didn’t carry.

I typed faster than I’d ever typed in my life.

911. Intruder in house. 3 people. Please hurry.

He has a gun.

Address: 348 Hazelwood Drive.

My thumb hovered over send.

Bootsteps thumped towards my room. I was too slow.

But I already pressed it, and the message was sent.

My heartbeat roared in my ears as the footsteps stopped outside my door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The intruder stomped into the room, gun in hand.

Before I could even turn, a hand fisted in my hair and yanked me backward, I screamed as my phone clattered to the ground and skidded under the bed.

He slammed me into the wall so hard my vision flashed white. My head rang. Air disappeared from my lungs. His grip was iron around my wrist.

“You think I’m stupid?” he snarled, spit hitting my cheek. “Trying to call the cops?”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

He shook me once, violently, like he wanted to rattle the truth loose.

Down the hall, Mom screamed my name.

Dad yelled something—choked and furious—but he was too far away to help.

The intruder dragged me by the arm into the center of the room. My feet barely found the floor. I kicked and pulled, but his grip only tightened.

He threw me on the bed, gun raised.

I flinched back, my hands flying up instinctively, my breath coming in gasps.

He moved toward me slowly now, fury burning in his eyes.

“You just bought your parents some real punishment,” he hissed.

My pulse hammered against my bruised ribs.

But then…

from downstairs…

WOOOOOOOP. WOOOOOOOP.

The unmistakable sound of sirens cut through the night.

His head jerked toward the window. His face twisted in panic.

“No…no, no. Not like this—”

And for the first time…it was HIM that looked afraid.

The sirens wailed closer, drowning out my heartbeat, Dad’s shouting, even the wind hissing through the broken window.

The intruder cursed under his breath and lunged for me. He yanked me off the bed so fast my shoulder nearly dislocated. Pain shot up my arm, but I didn’t have time to react before he spun me in front of him like a shield.

“Move,” he growled, breath hot and ragged against my ear.

We stumbled into the hallway. My feet slid on the floor, struggling to keep up with his frantic pace. He dragged me like I weighed nothing. Mom and Dad both cried out from the landing as he shoved me toward the stairs.

“Let her go!” Dad shouted, hoarse and desperate.

I turned to look at them and hadn’t noticed he had somehow tied their arms and legs together, keeping them from moving.

The intruder jabbed the gun hard into my ribcage. “Shut up!”

Mom sobbed as Dad shimmied the ropes.

When we hit the bottom of the stairs, the front door burst open, and cold snow blasted in, slicing through the heat of fear.

Police lights strobed red and blue across the walls, blinding me.

“Drop the weapon!” someone yelled from outside. “Hands where we can see them!”

But the intruder didn’t stop.

He kicked the door wider and dragged me out onto the porch. The snow was deep and icy against my slippers, soaking me instantly. His arm was locked around my throat. The gun pressed into the side of my head.

The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, even the tears in my eyes had frozen.

Officers stood behind their car doors, guns raised. Their spotlight pinned us under a white beam so bright the snow looked like shiny teeth.

“Take one more step, and she dies!” he screamed, voice cracking under pressure.

For a second—just a second—the world held still.

Sirens. Wind. My own whimpering breath.

This was the moment I was going to die, I thought. I closed my eyes and prayed to whatever God would listen.

Then—

POP.

A single gunshot from somewhere behind the garden hedge.

The intruder jerked forward, his grip loosening, causing the gun to slip from his hand and disappear into the snow.

He made a choked sound before blood exploded from his side and sprayed across the snow in a wide arc. Thick red splattered against white.

The snow soaked it up and turned it into a red slushie.

He collapsed at my feet. The police swarmed in, shouting orders I couldn’t understand.

I stood there shaking, staring at the red spreading like a grotesque stain across winter’s purity.

Dad reached me first. He wrapped me in his arms so tightly I couldn’t tell which one of us was trembling more.

Mom’s sobs joined his, warm breath hitting the cold night air.

I looked down one last time at the body half-buried in blood-soaked snow.

For a moment, I wondered if I’d ever feel safe in the dark again.