If Cassidy had been drinking his morning coffee, he would have spat it out explosively, its contents spraying the glass.

Thankfully, he wasn't, so instead, he merely stared.

Reading the words was like a blade shoved directly into his eyes with each letter.

I

Stab.

D

Stab.

I

Stab.

E

Stab.

D

Stab...

And so on.

Why would she tell him that? How did she know the date would have a relevance to him? Was she toying with him, now she had him on side? He felt a cold sensation rising through his body, starting at his calves and turning his innards to ice as it travelled upwards. As it passed his chest, his heart began to race. When it reached his neck, he felt it constrict from the inside, gripping his throat.

He lifted his hands, clawing his neck, trying to break the hold, but, as it wasn't external, there was nothing to hold on to. He felt as if he was being strangled, but internally.

He dropped to his knees, trying unsuccessfully to speak. To beg.

"Hel...!"

He fell sideways, smashing his head against the partially open door. Luckily, it had space to move, and the impact knocked it shut. If it had been fully closed already, so a solid object, the blow might have been much worse. As it was, by the time he hit the floor, Cass's eyes were closed and he was unconscious.

There was silence in the house, a silence not just from within, but from without, too. Cars passed by. Passers-by passed by. A group of teenagers, only recently passing the teen mark, were joking and laughing. Three of them were on their phones, typing while chatting, the key presses a tone that would annoy anyone able to hear it. A dog, being walked by its tall, balding and heavily tattooed owner, barked at nothing in particular. Its owner shushed it with a sharp word and sharper tug of the lead. Two streets away, a police car's siren, accompanied by the flashing blue lights, wailed as the officers responded to a call over their radio.

The world turned as noisily as it generally was.

Yet, there was silence in the house. The sounds from outside did their best to push their way in through the window panes. They huddled up against the locks, hoping to worm their way through. They lurched towards the very slightly opened window in the spare front bedroom that Cassidy had opened when he first moved in, wanting to let some airflow dissipate the stuffiness pervading the house. He'd forgotten to close it, but it was only open a crack. Barely anything. Sound needed only the slightest opportunity to gain entrance.

But, it could not.

Around Cassidy, and stretching to the furthest extents of his home, there wasn't a single ripple in the quiet. There was also no movement, with the spiders lurking in the corners and shadows, not wanting to disturb the peace.

The house remained that way for the three and a half hours. Part way through that time, the writing on the mirror faded. The lipstick ants didn't run. They disappeared, then reappeared.

Cassidy?

Are you OK?

The words stayed until Cass stirred. His finger twitched. His eyelids flickered. He groaned. He sat up, slowly, and gingerly touched the sore area that had connected with the door. There was a small lump, but no blood, thankfully. At first, he couldn't remember what had happened. He looked around the room, hoping something would jog his memory. Had he tripped? After falling down the...

His hands shot to his throat. He'd been choking. Unable to breathe. He remembered the feeling of his throat tightening and the desperate gasping for air.

Amy. It had something to do with Amy.

He looked up at the mirror, but it was clear, apart from the thickened smear across the top. Maybe it hadn't been her. Had they been speaking? He wasn't sure.

He needed a drink. About a gallon of water should do it. Rather than stand immediately, he crawled over to the bed, dragging his knees across the carpet rather than lifting them. He was nauseous and didn't want to vomit up the pint of lager he's had with Jazz. It would be such a waste.

Using the bed for support, Cass pushed himself up, turning to sit on the edge of the mattress. With one hand on his thigh and his arm locked straight to stop him from pitching forward, he held his forehead. Wow, that was a bad one. It had been so long since he'd had a panic attack, and longer still since it had been so severe.

He rarely suffered from the anxiety his sister was plagued by. There were times she had been debilitated by it. Cassidy had occasionally felt panic overtaking his body, but, since being an adult, it was only ever in the most extreme circumstances, ones he rarely faced.

The last time he'd passed out had been when he and his siblings had been playing in the large grassy area behind the flats they lived in as children. Was he ten? Twelve? Something like that? No, he must have been older. Fifteen or so. It was not long before they moved into a house.

The space behind the block of flats reached over to the rear fences of a set of terraces. It had been left alone by the council, who said they didn't have the funds to maintain it and other spaces like it. Too small to build on. Too large to offer as parking for the residents, when they had a perfectly serviceable road side. A car park would mean more costs. More repairs. More arguments between neighbours parking in the wrong space. Plus, in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, it was a gift to thieves who could break locks and windows with well-practiced speed. All those vehicles brought together to be raided in one fell swoop. Such fun.

The grass and weeds had grown tall and thick. It was great for Hide and Seek. Excellent for secret trysts. Exceptional for dealing with and taking drugs.

Cassidy, Ethan and Jazz, even at fifteen and older, we're happy to do the former. They'd join with others in their circle and play a host of games where hiding played a major role. Hide and Seek and Tig were favourites, naturally. Sanctuary, too, a cross between the two games, where players would run and hide, if they could hide, and then had to get to the Sanctuary, which could be a gate or post or car. They also enjoyed, and this was more for the trio than the rest of the group, Play Dead.

Ethan was going to be the corpse. He'd go out into the Spin, the local name for the area and one no one knew the origin of, lay down and act as if he'd been killed. It was his siblings' job to find him.

The search could take anything from ten minutes to three hours. It had been known for the 'deceased' to quietly move somewhere else, if they were close to being found, which could extend the time drastically. Though it was classed as cheating, it wasn't exactly frowned upon. The siblings enjoyed each other's company and the things they did. Even when they became adults and made their own lives, they remained close.

At least until the death of their parents.

Jazz and Cass counted to thirty, reaching it after two aborted attempts because of his insistence on counting with 'one, two, miss a few...' Ethan ran, his route zig zagging through the tangle of undergrowth in an effort to find the best hiding place. As he heard the words twenty eight and twenty nine, he dropped to the ground and crawled slowly along. If they'd heard the direction he'd been running in at the last minute, he wanted to not be there by the time they reached it.

He knew Jazz and Cass would be whispering between themselves. They'd be discussing which way they should go and where they thought he might be. Neither needed to announce the start of their search. The sounds of running through the field did that for them.

It wasn't going to be a long hunt. Ethan didn't put too much into trying to avoid them. It was close to dinner time, and they were all hungry. They'd agreed to not drag the game out, as they wanted it complete before they heard their mum shouting "Grub up!" There was little worse than having to stop playing part way through.

After their initial race into the tall grass, brother and sister had stopped their careening and taken to a more reserved, more sensible approach. The enthusiasm that catapulted them from the start position was under control and they, now, crouched and crept. Noise was unavoidable, but keeping movement to a steady, slow pace minimised the chance they might reveal themselves. Ethan had to close his eyes and listen intently to try and locate them. He'd found a place far from where he had originally ducked down, so hoped it would throw his hunters off. Could they hear his heart beating? Could he hear theirs?

Sshhhh. Listen. Wait! Was that one of...?

Without warning, Cassidy, who'd decided stealth was getting them nowhere and his brother needed to be routed out like a wild animal, ran into the space occupied by his brother.

Cassidy's foot, mid swing, connected with Ethan's face, knocking his head back, and causing the back of it to crack against the large stone embedded in the earth.

Cassidy tripped over his brother, falling and rolling. Ethan didn't have the opportunity to do anything. The impact knocked him unconscious. He laid still, with blood seeping from the resultant wound and pouring from his broken nose.

Cass pushed himself up, not realising he'd just kicked his brother. He ran again, only glancing back out of mild curiosity as to what he'd fallen over. When he saw Ethan, he staggered to a halt and rushed back.

"Ethan! Ethan! Wake up! Ethan!"

He heard Jazz approach, but the cold sensation was already overtaking his body. He'd killed his brother! Ethan was dead! No!!

When he awoke, he was in hospital, in a bed next to his brother. Ethan was watching him and grinning.

"You kick me in the head, knock me out, and you get all the sympathy? Well done, Fuck Face."

And so, the nicknames began. And so, too, a lengthy investigation into what had caused Cassidy's episode began. Nothing physiological could be found. Neurological tests were negative. In the end, Cassidy was diagnosed with acute anxiety, triggered by abrupt changes in his serotonin levels brought on by sudden high stress situations. The siblings' father said it was rubbish, and the doctors were just saying that because they had to say they'd found something. His wife was more understanding, not that her husband was uncaring, he simply paid little due to the opinions of doctors in all cases. She took the medics' advice to try and keep her son calm and away from stressful situations, at least until he had matured more.

Cassidy was embarrassed and repeatedly apologetic to Ethan, who, on the other hand, thought his broken nose made him look cool. He told Cass not to be a wuss, and admit he did it because he knew he couldn't win the game.

Amy.

Yes, it was Amy. They had been speaking. He remembered.

She told him she died on Valentine's Day.

https://youtu.be/SGhSblnakWQ