Late Night in the Kitchen
I leaned against the counter, staring at the glowing fridge. The hum was loud in the quiet house.
“Are you seriously eating again?” my little brother’s voice came from behind me.
I jumped. “I—I just needed a snack! Don’t tell mom!” I said, trying not to drop the cheese I held.
He snorted and leaned on the doorway. “It’s midnight. Who even eats at this hour?”
I shrugged, biting the corner of the cheese. “People like me. Hungry people.”
The toast popped up, and I grabbed it, the smell of warm bread filling my nose. I spread butter on it, still glancing at him.
“Want some?” I offered, holding out a slice.
He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll just watch. You make a mess anyway.”
I laughed softly, crumbs falling onto the counter. “Fine, but you’re probably going to get hungry too.”
The kitchen was quiet again, except for the ticking from the clock. I leaned against the counter, munching on my toast, feeling like the only person awake in the whole world.
Then something shifted. The hum of the fridge seemed louder, and I noticed how still everything else was. Too still. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl. I set down my plate and froze.
A sudden scratching sound came from outside, right near the window. My chest tightened. “Did you hear that?” I whispered, but when I looked toward the doorway, my brother was gone.
“Hey! Don’t mess with me!” I called, my voice scared. No answer. My heart pounded. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find on the counter—a kitchen knife—and held it tight.
“Jake?” I called again, and louder this time. My own voice echoed back. I stepped outside, the cold air rushing against my face. The porch light flickered, and the sound came again, louder. I raised the knife, breath caught in my throat—
—and a raccoon darted out from under the trash can. I nearly dropped the knife as I let out a shaky laugh. “Just a dumb raccoon,” I muttered, turning back toward the door.
But when I spun around, my brother jumped out from the shadows. “Boo!” he shouted.
I screamed, stumbling back. He laughed so hard he could barely breathe. “You’re such a scaredy cat!” he said, sticking out his tongue, before walking back inside.
I sighed in relief, lowering the knife. My hands still shook, but the kitchen light was still on, and I suddenly felt safe again. I followed him inside, telling myself I wasn’t scared. Not really.