Noises from Downstairs

I walked into the house through the big front door, careful to shut it quietly so as not to wake anyone upstairs. I’d been out later than I’d expected. I tiptoed cautiously up the stairs, imagining myself as a mouse, quietly putting one foot in front of the next. I knew that if I woke anyone up, I’d be in big trouble. I skulked down the long upstairs hallway I’d walked through so many times before. Considering how late it was, there were no lights on in the hallway, but I didn't need to see to know where the walls were. I reached my hand out in the darkness, took hold of the cool, silver door handle, and soundlessly entered the bedroom.
Just as I had gone into the room, I heard a noise coming from downstairs. A million and one thoughts rushed through my mind as I quickly ducked underneath the bed. Everyone in the house was asleep, or at least should've been! It was extremely early in the morning, and no one knew I had gone. No one should've been up, and that was what scared me. It couldn’t have been something falling from one of the cupboards, could it? No, I decided, definitely not. There was someone else in my house. I crawled underneath the bed all the way into the middle, as to avoid being seen. And then I waited.
A few minutes later, I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. One by one, they thudded their way slowly, menacingly to the top. Though they weren't anywhere near me yet. I was all the way at the end of the hall, hidden underneath the bed. I glanced to the right, and stared up at the glowing red numbers indicating the time on the alarm clock. They read 1:52 AM. I hadn't realized how late I'd stayed out. The rhythmic thumps of the footsteps making their way up the wooden staircase would've lulled me to sleep if I hadn't been so on edge, nervously wondering who it could be.
I heard a door creak open on the other side of the hallway. There were three more doors before this one, though, so I prayed that whoever it was would think I wasn't there, and leave before they reached the door which concealed my existence for the time being. I looked towards the brown door which guarded the room I was hiding in and prayed for it to stay shut. I prayed that I would remain hidden.
I don't care much for tight spaces, so my breathing became shallower and labored; I became increasingly nervous. Thoughts like, "What if they hear me?" and then, "Calm down! They don't know you're in here yet," floated across my mind. They can’t know I’m here, I thought. I was upstairs, and they were downstairs. They had no way of knowing where I was.
I heard the creaking in the hallway as the next door opened, and rustling coming from inside the room. Whoever it was was searching for something, for me presumably. No, not for me, whoever it is doesn't know that you’re here. Calm down, John, calm down.
Apparently, no one was in that room, because before I knew it, the footsteps emerged back out and into the hallway, and the next door was being opened. The slow and nerve-racking footsteps echoed in my mind. That was when I knew they weren't going to stop looking. I fumbled in my pockets, as quietly as I could, for something I could use. My fingers brushed against cold plastic. My phone! But then my stomach dropped and my heart sank. Of course, I couldn't call the police.
As my attention slowly turned towards the brown door again, I heard the footsteps approach it. I watched the light stream in as the entrance to the room inched open. Two small feet ambled their way in. I inched further back, away from them, as a natural instinct, but I was still surprised. This wasn't who I’d pictured. Those feet belonged to a little boy.
The little feet stumbled to the top of the bed. I could feel the little boy shaking the two figures above me, shaking them into consciousness. I slowly slid the knife out of my jacket's front pocket, readying myself, trying to avoid the light which was now streaming in through the open door and catching the blade. I was surprised; he’d made it back quicker than I'd expected, but now was my only chance. I'm so sick of people thinking this house belongs to them. 
The little boy began to speak as I slowly emerged. "Mummy, daddy," he whispered, "I think there's someone in our house."
Category:Appealed Stories
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Ghosts