Why is this happening to me, I thought frantically to myself.

I can still his cold breath on the back of my neck, and his long, skeletal fingers. I tried to put it out of my mind as I leaned against a tree. I had run into the woods out of fear, which seemed a foolish thing to do now. The trees blew in the wind, outlined against the starlit sky. The stars looked the same as they did last night. With my life changing as it did, it seems that they should have too.

Earlier this evening, my parents had gone out to dinner, leaving me home alone. But, I liked to be alone, usually spending a lot of time in my room. I was wearing a white tee shirt with violet shorts. Watching television, I heard a scratch against the window. It was a windy night, so I dismised as nothing more then a branch stractching against the window. I was not worried about being robbed; it was a quiet neighborhood, dull as one might put it. Nothing exciting happened here. Milton, in western Connecticut, I declared was a normal, quaint town where nothing out of the ordinary happened. Little did I know, tonight was different.

Around 10 or so, I heard a crash followed by a loud thump. I could have blamed it on a cat or dog, but we did not have one since my father was allergic to their fur. Now, I was getting paranoid. I did not want to see what it was, but I knew I had to.

I recalled my mother's words, "If you get scared, go next door to Mrs. Markes' house." I did not want to be seen as a baby. Also, I knew if I went over there, my parents would not let me stay home alone again. I am fifteen and I do not need a baby-sitter.

I composed myself, preparing for whatever it was I would see. I grabbed a knife I found on the cutting board, just in case. Truth to tell, I was frightened, but I tried to think that I had imagined it. However, it was not a figment of my imagination.

A vase near an open window in the semi-lit dining room lay on the ground in many little pieces. I reached over and closed the window trying to recollect if I had left it open earlier and simply forgot to close it. It was then that I felt his cold breath on the back of my neck. My long, brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, since it was unbearably hot inside my house. However, I was told that under no circumstances to open any windows.

"Catherine," he breathed my name, sending chills down my spine. I gripped the knife tighter and elbowed him as hard as I could in the stomach. When I turned around I thrust the knife into his flesh. I decided to not try and pull the knife out since it had not been a fatal blow.

I ran to my room down the hall, contemplating on what to do next. I quickly grabbed my brown, leather jacket and sneakers. I then opened the window and jumped out onto the cold grass. I saw Mrs. Markes' house and ran over to the door and banged on it as hard as I could. Trying to get her attention. Unfortunately, she must have been asleep because she never responded and I heard a few more crashes coming from the inside of my house. I panicked and ran as fast as my legs would take me, into the nearby woods, not wanting to entangle anyone else in this real life horror movie.

This brings me to where I am now. Leaning against a tree, I tried to catch my breath. Maybe I have lost him, maybe he bled himself to death, maybe he is still lying there. All these hopes filled my brain. I wonder how long he will be laying there after I stabbed him. A new breed of worries filled my mind, kicking out the hopes I tried to hold onto.

My paranoia set in again. I felt that someone else was there. But who? Him? I stayed as still as possible, not realizing that I had been holding my breath.

It was then that I saw him. A devious smile playing upon his face. Fear stabbed me, like a thousand knives being inserted all over my body. I felt like I was drowning, the fear was suffocating me. I tried to run but my feet were rooted in the ground.

I shivered for it was so very cold outside and I was wearing shorts. My long brown hair, now out of the ponytail, blew across my face not allowing me to see anything.

I felt a sharp pain on my right thigh. He had cut me with the same knife I had stabbed him with! I looked down on it, the crimson blood flowing out and down my leg, like a stream of water.

I do not know what gave me the courage to do what I did next. I kneed him in the very sensitive area, prolonging any attack. I ran. I ran like the wind. I was not thinking of the scarlet blood dripping down my leg staining my socks, nor the fact that he could be right behind me. I was running without knowing where my final destination was. I was just running, not looking back. However, I failed to see a log ahead and I tripped over it.

"Wake up, honey. We're home." My mother's voice drifted into my head.

I snapped out of my sleep. A feeling of relief washed over me. It was only a dream. "How was dinner?" I managed to say.

"It was wonderful," my mother responded. It surprised me when she went white in the face.

"Cat, what happened?" She asked me, pointing to my thigh. I looked down to see the ruby red blood flowing out of a deep stratch on my right thigh. In my dream, it was where he had cut me.

"I-I don't know," I stuttered.

"Well, let's get you cleaned up," she said in a cheery voice.

Had it been a dream? It had felt so real, the pain, the fear. What was the difference between reality and the dream world? Am I still dreaming?

My mother washing the wound with water first, then applied some rubbing alcohol.

"I hope this doesn't require stitches," she said breaking the silence.

I nodded, while fearing that I would never know the answers to those questions.