American Horror Story: New Year’s Eve (True Story)

It was the night of New Year’s Eve, filled with drinks and laughter, but outside was a cold, sketchy night on a dead-end. We got kicked out earlier than planned, so I got a ride home from a friend. I thought my parents were home from their party because both cars were in the driveway of our house, so my friends left before I got into my house thinking I would be fine.

I knocked on the front door and nobody answered. I ran to the side door, no answer. I took my bag an emptied it on the front deck multiple times to get my key, but I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t call my parents to let them know I was home early and locked out because my phone died, of course. The longer I was outside the more numb my body was getting. All I wore was a small dress, a sweater, and boots. Although I was numb, the cold was stinging my body. I tried the garage to get the emergency key, but couldn’t remember the code because I hardly ever use it.

It was one o’clock in the morning, below freezing, I was drunk, the neighbors were sleeping, I had no way of contacting anyone, I was too numb to walk to a friend’s house, so I did what I thought was my only option. I had to break into my own house. I went to my basement window, the smallest, but easiest window to access, and I tried to open it, but it was locked for once, the night I needed it most. I still tried to open it and unlock it from outside, but I knew it wasn’t going to work. I started punching the window, underestimating it’s strength, and it wouldn’t open or break. I stood up, took a breath, and kicked the window with all the energy I had left. Glass shattered everywhere. With my hand, I started to hit the leftover broken glass that was around the edges so I could fit through, then I took my bag and dove into the window and onto my couch right below it.

It was pitch black. I knew I landed on a pile of broken glass, but I didn’t acknowledge what I had just done because my goal was to go upstairs and call my parents to tell them I got home safely, so I thought. I was trying to find the light switches as I was stumbling through my house. I finally got the house phone and called my parents so they knew they weren’t picking me up from the party anymore. After, I sat down on the couch to finally relax after the long night I had. About ten minutes later, still numb from the cold, I felt a weird, sticky substance on my hands. I looked down and started crying hysterically.My hands were covered in my own blood. As I looked around I realized there was blood on my stockings, dress, the phone, the walls and light switches, and big drops on the floor all throughout the house.Why did I think I would be okay? I had just dove into a narrow window surrounded with broken pieces of thick, sharp glass. I called my parents right away and luckily they had just pulled up into the driveway.

When my parents opened the door, I was standing there covered in blood, make-up running down my face. They helped me right away by wrapping layers of bandages and medical tape all over my bloody hands as I cried and explained to them everything that happened. The pain hit me slowly as my body defrosted and got out of the shock I put it in. I was exhausted from the stress and fear I had to go through. I was just relieved and finally felt safe for the first time that night.

Bad choices make good stories.


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