***

8:09 AM, MAY 28TH, 1987

RENVALE POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 01

The room is compact.

Sterile might be another, more fitting word—four grey walls, a stainless steel table, three fold-out chairs—two facing the singular across the table. One door, no shelves and no windows, only a double-sided mirror, and a single security camera to record everything that is happening in this room.

In short, it was bland, with no personality or sense of any outside world. Perfect for its purpose. And it serves that purpose very, very well.

In the chair facing the other two was a teenage girl, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Her dark brown hair is tied up in a ponytail, but several strands are escaping it and hanging loosely around her face, and the ponytail itself looks like it's going to fall out at any second. Her denim jacket is more distressed than it should be and the right sleeve is torn at the hem. There is blood and something darker on it, spotted on her shoes and staining her shirt and jeans. It might have been sprayed across her face, but looks like it has been scrubbed away—but there are some stubborn spots left, and red shadows are imprinted on her skin. And there's a look in her eyes, like she's seen something, looked right at it and clawed her way to freedom kicking and screaming and was halfway tempted to drag it down with her—though by the blood on her clothes, it seems like she might have done that when she'd fought her way to stay alive.

The girl looks like she'd been through hell and back. Not something one expects of a teenage girl who'd just graduated yesterday and had a promising future ahead of her.

The door opens and the girl's head jerks up as two men enter—one with a gruff face and bushy moustache and like he's already done with the case, the other clean-shaven and younger, a smile on his face as if meant to calm the girl.

It doesn't. The girl's face looks like she wonders if she would ever be calm again. If she could look at shadows again without the shadows reaching back for her, with claws and fangs hidden inside them to tear her throat out.

GRUFF POLICE OFFICER 

Emelia Torres.

He and his colleague sit down in the chairs. In his hands is a file folder—of what they'd learned so far about last night, the evidence they gathered for this case.

The girl looks at them. Her eyes narrow and her mouth twists to the side.

EMMY TORRES

It's Emmy.

GRUFF POLICE OFFICER 

Right. Emmy.

His moustache twitches as he opens the folder, as if he's even more already done with Emmy and rather be anywhere else than he already had been since he entered the room. His colleague takes over, giving Emmy that same smile. Emmy thinks when will he realise it isn't working.

SMILING POLICE OFFICER

Emmy, we have questions we want to ask you about last night, about what happened in the house between when you and your friends entered last night and this morning.

EMMY 

You mean questions you have about whether I'm a murderer? 

It's a pointed question, Emmy's body coiled up and tense from where the camera can see her.

SMILING POLICE OFFICER

We don't think you're a murderer, Emmy. But it's... suspicious. 

He eyes her bloodied clothes, her clenched hands that, just like her face, had crimson shadows ghosted across them. 

SMILING POLICE OFFICER

You came out of the house, covered in blood, holding bloodied weapons that we still have in evidence, and you tried to resist us when we took you in for questioning. And with what we found inside...

He now looks at her directly, the smile gone now, as if telling of how serious of a situation that this is—as if Emmy doesn't already know how serious it is. And with the look in his eyes, if he and the other officer and those other cops did see what was inside, what had happened, and what they had seen when they came onto the scene two hours ago...

It is even more evidence for Emmy on how serious this is, perhaps more than the smile being gone from the cop's face as he continues. 

SMILING POLICE OFFICER

It... doesn't look good for you.

GRUFF POLICE OFFICER

We just want some damn answers, kid. Just talk to us about what the hell happened last night, and maybe you might get lucky and be considered a witness, that the blood and weapons were self-defence, and we can catch the real killer and give you and your friends justice. Before anyone else gets hurt.

Beneath the gruffness of the words, there was something genuine, like he did want to help her, to catch some killer that Emmy had the fortune to get away from alive, despite the blood on her clothes and her skin. Despite her resisting them. Despite the bloodied flashlight and knife that were in that evidence locker the smiling cop had mentioned. Despite whatever they may have seen inside that house.

But there was no killer. No killer the cops could catch—not if they wanted to be ripped apart by it.

Emmy's eyes darts to something on the table—a camcorder, as beat up as she looks—before looking back at the cops.

EMMY

You really want to know happened last night? In that house? 

She pauses as she looks down, trying to fight off the memories of last night, memories she'd never forget, swallowing her screams and her urge to get them all out alive, to protect her friends, the blind rage. The growls, the shrieks, the horror. The shadows staring back at her with more teeth than they ever should have.

The cops notice.

SMILING POLIC OFFICER

Hey, take your time. I understand it must have been a traumatic experience

Emmy chokes out a bitter laugh. 

EMMY

You don't know the half of it.

Silence ticks by as Emmy swallows, before she gives a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping as she looks up at them again.

EMMY

The truth is if we hadn't accepted that dare, then maybe it would never have happened. That they wouldn't be...

Emmy gives a pause again as she looks briefly down, like she's fighting back tears, before she looks back up at the cops, expression now neutral—but no amount of blankness could hide the haunted look in her eyes, a look that was certain would never go away as long as she lived.

EMMY 

It started yesterday, right before we accepted that stupid dare, when we'd all just graduated...

***

IT'S HERE!! LET'S GO!!!!!

I had so much fun writing this!!! I hope you guys all had a nice look at our final girl Emmy!! She's been through hell, and you'll find out soon enough what exactly it is >:)

I'm so excited to write this, especially with the found footage element as you can tell with the interview! (can confirm this is how it'll be written!)! Hopefully I can pull this off well! *fingers crossed*

Anyway, the next couple of chapters will be nice and light... then we'll head into the horror >:)

Oh! Here are the links to the Spotify playlist and the Pinterest board for it!

(Spotify)

https://spotify.link/4E9LTmSdvDb

(Pinterest)

https://pin.it/cqrV25T

(If link doesn't work, lmk here and I'll direct you to it!)

Please read, comment and vote!

GhostWriterGirl out!