I woke up in the middle of the night. A loud crash of an object jolted me awake. "Must be our dog, Sarah." I tried to get back to sleep. But I kept hearing things. "I must be thinking too much."

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There is a curtain dividing my side of the room from my sister. I heard her roll out of her bed, and walk down the stairs. "She's just getting a snack." A moment later, I heard gun shots. Screaming. Crying. I could hear the blood pour from her body, my head crowded with thoughts. "It's just a dream. It's just a dream."

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I heard the loud footsteps of my father. I peeked out from behind the curtain. He had a knife.

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He hiked down the stairs, trying to be fierce. I could no longer see him. I heard more noise. Screaming. Some from my father, some from the killer. Then I only heard my father's scream. I still can't get it out of my head. John's bedroom was downstairs. I heard a door creak open. It was his. 

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More screaming. And those were the last sounds they would ever make.

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I dialed 911. "Help, there is someone at my house and my siblings and father are hurt or killed!" I choked on my words. I kept hoping to wake up, away from this dream. But it was too real to be a dream. 

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I heard the clattering of feet, as they clashed with the stairs. I hid underneath my bed. The door knob to my room, slowly turned, and fear made me quiet. I could hear every gear twist and turn. The ticking of our clock was haunting. I saw blue and red lights shine in through my window. I heard the faint sound of sirens. The man ran out my door. I sighed in relief. 

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I saw a piece of a sticky-note fall onto the floor. I crawled out from under my bed. "Them."

Just 'them.' That's all the sticky-note said.

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"I guess we found a new nickname for our killer."

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I ran down the stairs to find my sister, lifeless, with a bullet in her head. My father's entire body stabbed from head to toe. My brother, beaten and bruised. Barely alive. "John!" but the life rolled out of his eyes before I could say anything else. "It's going to be OK" he wasn't breathing. This couldn't be real. I rushed out of the door to the police, sobbing. Waiting. Waiting for answers. 

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I called my mother. We cried together even though we were so many miles apart. I needed comfort. And the cold, brisk air was not helping. 

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They took the bodies of my family as evidence. "This is a dream, this is a dre-" A cop came up to me. "Ma'am?" I stared at him with tears running down my face. "Why didn't this killer...kill you?" I wiped away my tears and began to explain.

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"My sister went downstairs. I don't know why. Maybe because she wanted to get something to drink or eat. Or she was checking out the noises. I heard the noises but thought it was our dog. I heard her screaming." I could barely talk. "My father did too. He grabbed a knife and headed downstairs. More screaming. I don't think my brother got out of bed. I heard his door open but he was drunk. He wouldn't be able to defend himself, much less get out of bed. I heard no screaming, just faint whining. I heard somebody walk up the stairs. I had just called the police. I crawled under my bed and then I heard the siren and whoever-that-was ran away. I'm pretty sure he knew where I was. 'Them' walked right towards me."

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"...Excuse...my asking. Why did you call the killer-them?" His face was covered in confusion and glazed with concern. "I found a sticky note that he dropped. It said 'them.'" I handed him the sticky note.

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"I'm going to need you to come to the station."

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