#murderhouse plot

↳ self para to start the murderhouse plot with @wretchedwendigo​

triggers: death / murder 

Moving in to the four-bedroom house seemed like a no brainer for Nikki, when her friends had brought up the idea. They’d all been friends for so long, and the split rent was so low they knew they couldn’t pass up on an opportunity like this, even if it meant some people had to share rooms or make do with smaller spaces. It was just... too good not to try, and what was better than sharing a house with all of the people she loved most, anyways? It’d taken little time to get used to the house. Disregarding that the previous owners had died there, the young adults had brought new life and color to their humble abode. 

It was a day like any other, your standard Wednesday. All of her friends had made their way out for either work, or errands, and Nikki had the place to herself. This wasn’t uncommon, and some days, she even welcomed it. She liked having alone time, to dwell in her art books or pick up a novel to read without interruption from one of Roman’s roaring videogames or Cricket’s loud pop music. She was cozied up on the couch, when she heard a noise, shuffling feet in the other room, before a closing door. This left her curious, knowing that the only door in that direction belonged to the basement, where she roomed with Finnick. “Finn?” She called out, certain she was home alone. Marking her page before placing her “book of the day” to the side, she pushed to her feet, when she didn’t hear a response, making her way towards her room. 

“Finn, you home?” She called out once more, this time at the top of the staircase leading into the dark basement. She’d never been afraid of the lower level, careless of the overhead pipes and the old toolsets they hadn’t bothered moving when they’d claimed it as an extra bedroom. But, something just felt wrong as she peered down at the room, noting that the lights were still off, and nobody was answering. “Guess not,” She commented to herself, turning to close the door, but just as she did this, she heard a noise behind her, encouraging her to flip the light switch and make her way down to where her bed and belongings were, one step at a time. 

She was quiet now, uncertain as to what was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, but as her bare feet met the concrete floor, she froze, realizing all too quickly that she wasn’t alone. Contemplating her options, she studied the set of eyes in the corner of the room, before turning quickly and racing back up the stairs, yelling for anyone who might hear her. But, her friends weren’t home, and before she had made it to the top, a hand had grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling with such force that she tumbled down the stairs, hitting her head hard against the cement floor -- where her friends would find her later that day. Dead.