It is very hot in the closet where I am standing, and I am trying to focus on that fact. Not the itchy fur shawls rubbing against my arms, chest and neck. Not the coat hanger stabbing me in the shoulder blades. Not that I can’t move an inch without hitting a wall or door. Not that I’m freaking out and my brother is across from me with terror etched in his features. Not on the awful stretchy darkness and the gnawing feeling of impending doom.

I like to think of myself as an optimist but I’m having trouble looking at the bright side of this one. I’m in the far edge of nowhere and if I must be more specific I mean upstate New York sort of nowhere. Thats thanks to my genius parents. They’re both doctors so they really ought to have more brain cells in their thick skulls. Don’t get me wrong I love them, I’m just not in the most appreciative mood right now.

“ Annabelle, How long do we have to stay in here.” “ Shhh. Talk very quietly. We’ll stay in here until I figure out what to do next.”

Its winter break, schools out and my stress level should be nil. But my geniuses made a small mistake. They planned a vacation overlapping a business trip.

************** I was all packed up to go a week before break which lead to the misconception that this was a trip I wanted to go on. I just happen to like packing in advance. My lovely parents not wanting to disappoint decided to send us on vacation alone with, drum roll please, Uncle Greg.

At the time this idea was proposed I was sorely opposed. I was simply too old for a babysitter. There are just some things that are supposed to fall away into the background as one transcends through the teenage years. Yes, I am aware my younger brother is at an eligible age for the babysitting however his needs should not be indulged at the cost of my social demise.

Ever the optimist though I was perfectly capable of finding an upside. I happen to like Uncle Greg. He gives you ten bucks and chocolate every time you see him, was the cheesiest sort of funny and generally a nice guy.

It was as decent as could be expected on the way here. My parents choose to rent a ranch for the week from an old retired woman who spent her winters in Florida.

We drove up on Friday evening. In the car I was listening to my Ipod and my brother was snoring. Usually my uncle tried to get a conversation going and I was thankful for the quiet.

We pulled up to the house in about two hours. The front was grand with white columns that were intricately carved. The paint was starting to peel from the walls and there were more than a few missing shingles from the roof. 

Greg brought all the bags into the house in one trip. I remember thinking that was off, since when was he so strong. I didn’t give it much more than a second thought though.  

We getting ready for dinner and thats where it started getting suspicious. Tim was setting a round oak table in the center of a cozy red tile kitchen. I had put together a salad and boiled some pasta as the most capable chef in the room. Or so I thought. Greg put some hot dogs on the grill. Then he started making pasta sauce. I’m not talking diced tomatoes from a can pasta sauce though. I’m talking homemade italian style marinara.

My Uncle Greg can’t chop lettuce for a salad without nicking his finger. Now suddenly he’s a five star chef. “ Whoa dude when did you learn to cook like that ? Thats sick.” He turned and looked strangely at me with a thin lipped frown and had his eyes slightly narrowed

“ Haven’t I always been a good chef. Why is it sickening to you.” He said it in all in a flat monotone voice. I laughed. He wasn’t joking. “This is not humorous. Why are you sickened by my skills.”

He slammed his fist into the granite kitchen counter. The counter snapped in half. The freaking granite stone counter neatly halved. I gasped and my brother burst into tears. I watch enough horror t.v. shows to know that the best way to survive is to keep your cool.

“ The term sick is very versatile in current speech and in young adult lingo it means awesome. I meant it in that sense not the original meaning of the word.” “Oh alright then. ” Then he proceeded to cook the rest of our meal. We ate dinner together quite hastily and then Tim and I ran upstairs to “unpack”. Timmy stopped crying when he caught on to the act normal idea.

“ Beli. I’m scared. What is wrong with Uncle Greg.”

“ I don’t know. But we’ll figure something out.” “ What do we do.”

“We act normal and if he tries to hurt us we hide.Then we plan to make a run for it.” “ Okay. I can do that” I gave him a hug and we went to bed. The plan was simple, act normal and pray to live. The plan was very short lived. The next morning Tim slipped up and said that the bacon was burnt. Apparently that pushed Ol’ Greg off the edge of loony into psychopathic rampage mode. He asked if Tim would like to eat some fresher meat.

Then tossed a knife that lodged into the wall a millimeter away from his ear. It grazed the skin began to drip blood. Greg proceeded to retrieve a small vial from his pocket with the intent to collect the blood. He even voiced this whack job intention.

“ Maybe your breakfast meat will taste better marinated in your own blood. Or maybe I should marinate your own meat. Will that be less ‘yucky’ and ‘burnt and dry’ ”

Then he reached over to dab the blood clotting on Tim’s cut. “ Such sweet blood.” He licked the blood off his finger.

So, I grabbed Timothy by the hand and we ran turned tail fast mindlessly running upstairs to the bedroom and proceeded to jump into the smallest hiding space available. Which leads us back to the current predicament of hiding in the closet.

************** “ Beli. What if he finds us ? What do we do ?” he whispers hoarsely his voice strained from stress and by his body racking sobs. He was hysterical but managing to be so silently. I was impressed. I didn’t know how to answer. I grab his hand in my own and feel braver for it.

“We’ll make it through this.”

I search every crevice for anything useful in the dim light that crept in under the door. Thats when I see it, a small pocket knife glinting from where it poked out of an old beat up jacket. I grab it and flick the knife bit out.

“ If he comes I’ll lunge at him and try to stab him somewhere it hurts. You have to run down stairs and then out of the house and just keep running ‘til you get to a house. Knock on the door tell the people inside our story and then make sure they call 911. We are going to try to escape together now but if he gets to me you have to keep going.” “ Okay, but only if you keep going if he gets me.” “Okay”

I hate lying but I need to be sure he gets away safe. But if that monster lays a finger on my brother by god I will kill him whether logic deems me capable or not.

I slowly push open the closet door and we tip toe out. The balcony has a fire escape. I push my brother ahead of me. He is halfway down the escape when something heavy collides with my head. My vision blurs and white hot pain sears through me.

When I look up he is moving towards Timmy with outstretched arms. I run and then I’m stabbing with wild fervor at our attacker. “ RUN TIMMY RUN.”

And then he pins my hands behind my back and whacks me once more over the head. The world if fading to grey. I kick him hard in the groin and he doubles over. I stab my meager weapon into his head with all my strength. Something cracks. I lose my balance and in a rush colors I end up on my face down with one foot dangling off the edge. Blood pools around his cracked skull and I stab him I few more times to be certain that he is incapacitated.

I place two finger on his neck. No pulse. The sun bleeds orange rays into the bleak gray sky. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Timmy is frozen so I take his hand and we bolt down the fire escape and run like our lives depends on it because without knowing what Uncle Greg was, they still might.