You sit alone at your dining room table, watching the steam leave your Starbucks coffee cup. You slowly begin to peel at the labeling of the hand protector. Yeah, the cardboard thing that protects your hand from being burnt beyond repair. It's been dark out and raining for a few days now, and you don't hear anything. No cars, no chatter of neighbors on the street, no nothing. You push your hair back with your hand, looking out the window and grip the coffee cup as if to take a sip, but you just leave your hand to slide down to the base of the cup. Tears well up in your eyes and you croak with a broken voice to yourself. "God, I...I'm actually alone." You look around your apartment, hoping to get a grip on yourself before you have a meltdown, but it's too late. Your lips tremble as your breathing speeds steadily with your heartbeat, and you begin to sob at the table, gripping the cup tightly. You hit your head on the table and just rest it on the edge, staring at the floor and talking to yourself while you watch your tears fall onto the tile. "I-I can't be alone, I can't be, someone just someone has to be around." You look through your contacts list, making a mental list of who hates you, and who's numbers are invalid as you go along. Three numbers work. Your parents, your old best friend, and your voicemail. Lifting your head up from the table, you dial your parent's number. … No answer. Next is your best friend's number. … No answer. Lastly, your own voicemail box, just to hear recordings you haven't deleted. Ringing...and ringing... "There are no new messages." … You stare at your phone, boiling with anger. No new messages? "What the fuck do you mean no new messages? I didn't delete them!" "Press 4 to change your inbox greeting." You huff out of frustration and loneliness, hanging up and slamming it on the table. Your phone rings, and you look at the ID. Voicemail. You stare at your phone, your heart thumping out of your chest. You decide you're not going to pick up. Let it ring out, you think. No. It doesn't stop for five minutes. You can't tell if you're feeling sicker or if you're getting furious with this crock of shit. You pick up the phone slowly, and hit the answer key, listening carefully and you swallow as these quiet words float into your eardrum. "Pack your bags, and leave your house. I am here, and you are not alone. Dare I repeat, you are not alone." ____________ Hiya! Previously Zacharie, I bring this oneshot and good news! First of all I am back to write occasional oneshot horror or romance every once in a while, so just PM me when you need me! Second, those who read 'The Idle Promise', well, guess who's working on getting it published as a book? Mhmm, Genny here. (I'm working on it still, relax. Anyways, until then, I'm kinda/sorta here. Enjoy the horror of the holidays with my crappy oneshots.