Digging around in the dark would have been bad enough. You can feel spider webs tickling your arm hairs as you search with fingers where your eyes can't see. But in the dark, in the garage? You were sure it would only take a second, but after a full minute of searching for that dang packing tape, your bare feet pinch with cold, your breaths come out in shadowed puffs.

Dad put it here somewhere just yesterday, but where... You reach further down, something small and moving skittering across your palm.

"Gah!" You pull your hand to your chest immediately. Spiders... why spiders... why do they exist, why? After a moment, you regain some composure, forcing your hand forward again...

...when the light bulb above your head flickers to life then pops! in a shower of glass.

You cry out, shielding your face and not moving an inch.

From the garage doorway, a silhouetted figure rushes forward. "Honey? Oh, Jamie what are you doing out here?"

It's Karen. The person you're supposed to call mom now. Of course, it would be her. Always messing things up...

Your spine zips with panicked heat. "I was just looking for the—"

Karen talks over you. "Your father said not to come out here."

"I just needed one thing—"

"Come on, let's clean up this mess. Oh, where's the flashlight?"

Through your earlier darkness searching, you'd found the flashlight and quickly snatch it up now, blinking the yellow light in Karen's eyes.

Karen recoils, covering her face. "Jamie!"

You can't help it. A laugh slips out.

When you lower the light, Karen's shadowy form has crossed arms and a thick pouted bottom lip. "I'm trying to help."

"I'm fine," you say.

Regardless, she still says, "Watch the glass. Here. Come this way."

You don't need her advice, hopping over the bits easily with light now. Toes turning into ice cubes, you hurry inside, taking the light with you. Karen follows, huffing and muttering.

Whatever. You don't need the packing tape right this second anyway. While Karen grabs a broom and dustpan, you start upstairs back to your room of boxes. They aren't going to pack themselves.

"Jamie!" she calls. "We have to clean this up!"

You slam your bedroom door closed as an answer.

Towers of cardboard. Poorly sheeted mattress on the floor. Blankets draped over the single window.

Bedroom sweet bedroom. For now, at least.

You slink over to the mattress, cuddling with a blanket for something to clutch tight. The urge to hit something is strong. But you can't risk any of your few belongings to be broken, snapped, or dislodged from your perfect stacks of boxes. February air slips in through the cracked window, but you are ready to move. Now. August can't come fast enough.

New state, new school, new home – away from Karen. That is the key.

College should be the bigger key, but without a decided major yet, you just want to get away. First step: escape the evil step-mother. Then you can worry about your entire future.

Muffled voices rise through the floor. Dad's home. And absorbing Karen's weird, hissy voice like a champ. You feel bad. You do. But Karen was not a good choice, for him, for you, for this world. She put on a pretty face, sure, but that's all she is.

In the corner, your phone lights up, vibrating along the top of a box tower. Probably from your friend Cinthia. Sunday night psyche up for school in the morning. It's been a tradition since freshman year.

You're not really up for it though.

The muffled voices below continue, louder, harsher.

Twisting a fist into your blanket, you try to think of something other than Karen's stupid face, but with your room darkening by the second, your thoughts follow.

vrr, vrr...

Phone again. Cinthia again.

A slam of a cupboard downstairs makes you jump, close your eyes, want to hide.

vrr, vrr...

God, Cinthia what do you want?

Sigh, in just a few months... no more scream sessions, no more nights alone with Karen wandering the house.

vrr, vrr...

Finally, you stand and snatch the phone up. What could Cinthia want so badly?

But the number blaring back at you isn't Cinthia's. It is unknown. Four messages.

The most recent reads: Please answer. Urgent.

What?

scree...

Another jump. Turning into a jumping bean sort of night, apparently. But even that feeble joke in your mind doesn't land.

That sound came from the window.

It's too dark to see out, if someone's there scratching at the glass. Ugh, why do you picture a face with a hockey mask? Shoulders up, you try to shake out the tension building in your muscles, but if anything it tightens your limbs more.

Shouting below crescendos, falling silent only after you hear something glass shatter on something hard.

You:

A: Investigate the window.

B: Answer the text messages.

C: Head downstairs to your parents.

***Deadline for choice: August 8th, 2017 11 PM Mountain Time***