Ransom Pt. 1

I didn’t intend for her to find out that I lied, but of course, you can’t always get what you want. Not that it’s my fault that a twelve-foot enchanted sea serpent decided it liked my friend’s house better than salt water. Though I can’t blame him—that stuff’s terrible for your skin.

It’s just, one moment, my new—and only friend—is mere inches from my face, repeating for the hundreth time to ”Not. Burn. The. House. Down. Please.” Like just because it happened once before (also not my fault) doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. Give a girl a chance, am I right?

And then next thing I know, I’m yanked from a dream about dancing ice cubes with little mustaches to glass shattering and what sounds like every single last antique vase resting on the mantel exploding on the floor.

Well, that doesn’t sound good.

I stretch my arms out, blinking slowly as I try to figure out why four chandeliers are crammed on the low-hanging ceiling. In fact...I raise my left leg, stretching my toes as far as they will go. When they brush the crystal tassel of one, the light fixture sways ever so slightly.

Crash!

I scramble up, adrenaline coursing through my body like electricity. Something slams into the top of my head, and I swear I see stars. Stupid chandeliers.

A chorus of clatters and what sounds like a bookshelf being dragged through the house follows. My first thought is to grab my phone and film whatever’s going on, just so I can prove that it is by no means, my fault.

Rubbing the growing bump on my head, I scan the room for my phone. The chipped and dented wooden floor is bare of everything but a layer of relatively undisturbed dust and the beige cushions piled up around me on the couch hide the juice stains but not my phone.

Wait a second—the house is quiet again.

A part of me hopes whatever has been causing the noises has left but with the way my life works, there’s absolutely no way. The only truly good thing to happen in my life was getting to use the sky blue crayon in kindergarten before all those other brats tried to eat it or stick it in their ears or whatever normal kids do.

Frowning, I lift an eyebrow, straining to catch even the softest of exhales. But the only sound is the staticky noise you hear when you wake up in the middle of the night when everything is so quiet and still it feels like the whole world has frozen.

Think, Harlow. What would a rational person do in this situation? the logical part of my brain prompts.

Cute. But how should I know?

Swallowing, I clear my throat. “Um, I’m going to call the police.”

Silence.

“I have the phone in my hand, and I’m dialing the number as I speak!” I try to slide off the couch, but its velevety fabric pulls at my shirt so I ended up landing in a heap of limbs with a thump.

There, hiding under the couch with half-eaten spicy Cheetos and a crumpled paper cup, is my phone. I grab it and type my passcode with shaky hands.

“Uh, for real! See? 9-1-1.”

The three beeps as I tap the numbers deafen me.

“It’s dialing right now!”

With shaking fingers, I push the speakerphone icon, just so whoever is down there can hear I’m not bluffing.

“I’m sorry, we are currently unable to complete your call at this moment. Please hang up and try again.”

Oh crap. I scramble to end the call, but my hands are trembling so badly I end up knocking it onto the floor. My brain stalls, unable to come up with any other plans besides retrieving the device and trying again. After all, there is nowhere to hide in the small room unless by some miracle I manage to squeeze under the sagging couch; and in my adrenaline-fueled stupidity, I had revealed my location.

On hands and knees, I crawl the four feet or so to my phone. I am fully prepared to scuttle back to the corner farthest away from the stairs but as I lift my eyes, every muscle in my body freezes as my heart skips a beat.

I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think. A dull ringing fills my left ear, then my right as numbness spreads from around my eyes across my entire face. Red clouds my vision, a metallic taste flooding my mouth.

The fifteen wooden stairs with a few patches of faded burgundy carpet pinned in place by rusty nails stretch into a hundred. The pile of shimmering silvery-white scales at the bottom is both a few inches and several miles away, the odor of salt, fish, and rotting vegetation slamming into me.

Jaw dropping, the remainder of my air rushes out in a short puff. There is no way this is real.

The screech of metal on metal, like nails on a chalkboard, sends shivers down my spine as the scales shift, changing from white to a pale blue in the dull and flickering stairway light. Slowly, it lifts its head from where it was hidden below the bottom stair.

The phone drops from my hand, bouncing down the stairs one.

By.

One.

It smacks the creature right between his eyes, falling onto the knot of coils--the coils that don’t match its smooth skinned face, sharp nose, and glowing eyes.

With its very human mouth, this...this monster begged, “Please don’t call the police. I can explain!”