text: You awaken in your bed, terrified and curled up in your blankets. You briefly wonder if you dreamed everything, but know that that's impossible. Your knee hurts where you scraped it, your window is still open, and you know your mind couldn't conjure up everything you saw last night.
  
  
  "Honey? Are you OK?" Dad calls.
  
  
  You pause, wondering if you should tell him, before realizing he'd never believe you.
  
  
  "Yeah, I'm fine," you reply, wondering what you should do. 
  
  
  It's Saturday, so you could visit your friends and explain the situation. If you're more optimistic, you could go through the normal, legal means, although you're almost certain that will be complete and utter bullshit.
  > You go through legal means
  You take out your phone and make a call to the police department. You immediately reach the Sheriff, who answers. You quickly explain your situation, only to have him chide you.
  
  
  "Now, Hazel, I get you're still scared after the last night, but you can't be calling the sheriff's office over a little nightmare!"
  
  
  With that, he hangs up. What a cunt.
  > You try again
  You make another call, and get the police voicemail. You go through the normal bullshit, asking you what you want to report, and you notice there's not exactly a number to press for your complaint, and the "Other" button will lead you back to the Sheriff. The automated voice does tell you there's a police website where you can make an official report.