Who are you?

Stacy watched grandma walk back into the living room. Without a doubt she was wondering if letting the young man into her house was a bad idea. But she figured Stacy had just forgotten about him.

After grandma left the kitchen Stacy grabbed a steak knife out of the holder on the counter. She didn't actually intend on using it, after all she barely knew self defense. But a stranger was in her room and Stacy was scared. She hadn't wanted to scare grandma about it too, but she definitely did not have any friends other than Lori. Especially boys, they were worse then the girls.

Some nights during the summer groups of four or five would pull up to the house. Sheltered in the cover of night they'd vandalize grandmas home, mainly with tricks only immature idiots would use. Stacy finally gathered enough courage the tread up the stairs to her room. Grandmas was downstairs, safe from the stranger. But Stacy's was at the end of the hall to the left, right by her mothers old room. If she needed a fast escape her only option would be the small window by her bed.

She finally reached the end of the staircase. The hallway was dark almost pitch black except for the sliver of moonlight, barely peaking from the clouds into the windows. Slowly she put one foot in front of the other, the wood shifted under her weight. Her breathing became harder, it had been a long night and Stacy was tired of the constant scary events.

She put her hand on the door knob and tried to listen for someone moving. But she only heard herself wheezing. She finally turned the knob and flung open the door, "Who's in here!" She yelled shakily louder than anticipated. No one answered, she reached out and flicked on the lights. Looking around she realized there wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Her bed was still made, books still placed properly in the bookshelf by her closet. A burning embarrassment came over her, and she let out a burst of laughter. "I'm officially crazy." She placed the knife on the desk under the window, and then turned to close the door.

To Stacy's surprise the door was already closed, and locked. She shut her eyes so hard she felt like fainting. Once she opened them again, a boy looking around 17 years old was standing very close to her. "No Stacy." He whispered just barely loud enough for her to hear. His dark green eyes boring into hers, "I believe the question should be, what's in here? Not who."