Rasping Whispers

As the closing theme song to “Family Guy” blared from the TV, Betsy sighed in knowing her parents didn’t come home to catch her watching it. Seventh grade would be starting next week, and she needed to be in on everything cool whether Mom and Dad allowed it or not. Plus with school starting, her parents would never allow her to continue these late nights in front of the TV.

“Being twelve sucks,” she said as if someone could answer her in the empty house. She clicked off the remote and brushed popcorn kernels off her tank top. The fluffy white treats never hit the floor with her golden retriever snapping at the falling debris.

As Betsy bent down to pat the dog, her red hair brushed across Ruby’s back making it hard to tell the dog’s fur from her own locks. She then stepped toward a sink but tripped over her flip-flops that turned sideways with each clumsy step. Coke splattered on her crisp white shorts. She kicked off the annoying shoes and sprinted to the kitchen. I hope this doesn’t leave a stain.

When she placed a towel under the kitchen sink’s faucet, a raspy whisper echoed through the wall. Betsy leaped back and studied the empty kitchen. Ruby cocked her head and growled at the closet door—making Betsy’s heart beat faster than the chirping crickets outside the window.

“Who’s there?” Betsy asked.