Frostbite

Chapter Three - The Murder of Thea Rivera

I remember the night exactly. Recalling certain details, however, was not as easy.

It was the dead of night, quiet at home, all lights had been turned off, all candles had been blown out, and it was peaceful with the white noise of the thunderstorm outside tapping on the windows. The only light in the entire house was coming from the kitchen, where my mom was preparing some tea, fighting insomnia proudly. It was her routine to make chamomile tea when she couldn't sleep or was tending to my sister.

My baby sister was sound asleep in her crib. She was bundled up in cozy green blankets and dinosaur-themed pajamas. She had been worn out from a busy day of activities with her mother, involving errands, and play, all things positive that a young child should enjoy. My father was fast asleep in the master bedroom downstairs, I had seen him walk into the room in pajamas and not come out.

I was twelve, just newly twelve, and was in the bathroom taking a late-night shower. I had just finished up the middle school placement study session mom had put me on. I didn't like studying, but the after-study shower made it worth it in my eyes. I was washing my hair when I suddenly heard footsteps from outside the bathroom.

I still wonder who was behind those footsteps, I want to know whose obnoxious steps trod on those wooden planks. I remember it vividly, I had finished up in the bathroom and noticed the kitchen light had turned off. I thought at first that my mother had forgotten to tell us goodnight. I felt the fear drain slowly from my face as I slowly crept down the hall from the bathroom. My steps felt like jelly, those slow steps felt like agony with what I knew now. I placed my hand on the hallway and felt for the light switch before I paused. I knew that if there was an intruder, turning on the light would've been a dead giveaway of my location. Even as a little kid, I knew I had to be cautious with even my breathing...

I got low to the ground, crouching as close to the ground as I could without laying down, moving at a snail's pace to not crack any of my joints. The house was so quiet that two popped knees would be loud enough for an intruder to hear.

I felt for the stairs as I slowly made my way down the steps. I dragged my hands over the wooden steps and eventually got to the edges of the steps and slowly placed my left foot down on the next steps. I crawled down slowly and realized that the entire first floor was pitch black.The nerves began to eat at me. The sense of dread you get in your stomach when you can just tell you're being watched? I had no idea what was in the living room, I don't know who was in the living room, just something was in the living room. Something I was not prepared to see. I could hear cicada sounds, the crackling of silicon-type material clacking at insane speeds, though I could not pinpoint if it was inside or outside.

I used the shadows as my disguise and crawled towards the kitchen, gently feeling the ground for hopefully my mother sitting on the floor. The cold laminated wood was harsh to the touch as I felt the floor. The cicada sounds only grew in volume and lowered in pitch.I made an entire sweep, my hand sliding over the wood as I tried to find something, a weapon, a clue that I had a chance to defend myself. However, my mother was there, at first I had no idea if it was my mother. Her arm was stiff, cold, and lifeless, I felt the knees of my pants get wet from a warm substance that was a harsh contrast compared to the laminated wood floor.

I couldn't help but scream for my dad, I wish I had the willpower to stay silent and listen for anything. Though knew that he would help me and be around to ward off whatever monster that lurked in the dark kept my fear at its peak. The sounds around me were white noise, but eventually, I saw my father flick on the lights. He looked half asleep as he ran to my side.The light turning on alerted me of my father's approach, however it also revealed my mother, with a large butcher knife wound in her chest. My father was trying to get me away from her body and wash me off since I had gotten blood all over my shins and palms.