[Your POV]

I hate horror movies.

Always have, always will.

So it was no wonder that when the lights began to flicker in my house I freaked. I had just gotten back home after a college interview with one of the top art schools when it lamps and lights started flickering.

I didn't call my friends and say 'my house is haunted' only to do nothing afterwards like in the movies. That's the best way to get possessed and eat the heart of a horse... or die.

No, I instantly began to pack my bags and arm myself with every item possible to use as a weapon in my apartment: the toaster, the coffee maker, forks, skillets and good size empty ceramic flowerpot.

I was holding the flowerpot when it happened.

I had gone to the bathroom to grab some last minute tampons when the lights of my house finally died, plunging me into pitch black.

I clutched the flowerpot to my chest tightly, beginning to grow dizzy as fear pounded through my brain and cold sweat broke in the back of my neck.

A cold breeze drifted through the room. The thing was: my bathroom didn't have any windows.

And then a powerful tug began to pull at me, like someone had tied a rope to my chest and was yanking with all their might.

"Oh ghod—" I yelped just as the floor beneath me vanished below me and I felt myself seemingly suspended in inky atmosphere for a few seconds.

Whispers.

Surrounding me.

Hisses.

Then I felt a rush of wind and my stomach plummeted as if I was shooting down from the peak of a high rollercoaster...

Right into a dimly lit parlor.

I had just enough time to register I still had my flower pot in my arms and that there were three figures surrounding me before screams ripped through the air.

"What the hellhounds??"

"Oh Satan's butt, what have we done??"

"I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!"

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