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Kchan: A freaky little Halloween present for all of you out there! The beginning is just the narrator writing his story down, the middle is his letter, and the end is no person’s point of view, but focuses on the mystery man. Hope you can understand it!
“Hey, who are you?!” I whisper hysterically through the shadows as a person steps into my hiding place, crouching down with me. They close the door behind them. Mind you, my hiding place is a closet, so it was rather cramped. I hear my heart hammering wildly against the sides of my ribcage and I peer at the person. In the dim light, I thought that I could just barely make out the figure of my sister. But then again, it was dark.
I heard the person, presumably my sister, shift and move around next to me. I hissed frantically, “Shhh! Don’t make too much noise or he’ll hear you!”. The movement stops, and I strain my ears to hear the telltale noise of shoes hitting the hardwood floor, coming closer to my hiding place. However, I heard none and I relax. “Did he do anything to you?” I ask who I hoped was my sister. If it was indeed her, she made no reply.
Might I explain my situation, in this moment of crisis to whatever reader might be out there? I am currently scribbling this on a napkin will a pen in the dark. I hope you can read it; make it out. You see, because I might not make it out of here. Not alive at least. He’s sure to find me eventually. But I’ll write down as much as I can, and hide this little note in a coat pocket here in the closet. Hopefully, the police will find it when they are searching the house after my body is found.
Now, I ask you, please read this and let the police know!
.::------------------::.
To whoever finds this,
We lived in such a nice, quiet neighborhood, I never thought that something like this could happen here.
I had been sitting upstairs, on the computer doing homework. Vocabulary for English, I think, but I can’t remember at the moment. A little too strained. Our dog, an old German Shepard with graying fur lay on the floor next to my chair, looking up at me with lazy brown eyes. My sister was across the hall in her bedroom with listening to her CD player with the volume turned up to full blast. I always told her that she’d go deaf listening to her music like that. Little did I know it would get her into far worse trouble than just the loss of her hearing.
As I was typing, our dog started growling viciously at something. I ignored this. He was old, after all, and had a tendency to hear things that weren’t there. But in actuality, it was a warning that I should have heeded. Instead, I scolded the poor thing and went back to typing. I couldn’t help notice the look the dog gave me; like it pitied how stupid I was. He whined and growled some more before trotting down the stairs, barking at me to follow once he’d reached the bottom.
I sighed and muttered, “Stupid dog”. I got up from my chair and walked downstairs to prove to the idiot mutt that there was nothing there. The dog was lying at the bottom of the stairs, looking around fearfully and growling. I brushed passed him and checked the house. There was nothing wrong with the kitchen; all windows were locked and there were no doors here. All the windows were shut in the living room as well.
However, I felt the pit of my stomach drop out when I saw the back door, which was wide open, letting in the cold air of the night. I peered outside nervously, and slammed it shut with a start as I heard the dog yelp. Stupid mutt; it was going to give me a heart attack one of these days. I hurriedly locked the door, and proceeded to check and lock the rest of the windows downstairs, just to be safe.
It was then that I walked back to the staircase, and I saw exactly why the dog had yelped. The poor dog was lying down on its side, and at first I had thought it’d just gone to sleep. As I got closer, I could see its blood pooling on the hard wood floors and matting its fur. It’s eyes had rolled to the back of its head revealing only the whites, and his tongue lolled out of his open mouth and lay in the puddle of his blood.
More chilling than this were the footsteps I heard above me, upstairs, going into the computer room where I had been sitting only a few minutes ago. I fearfully looked up the stairs while a figure walked briskly across my line of vision; across the upstairs hallway to my sister’s room. I panicked, and ran for the kitchen again to grab the cordless phone that hung there, and nearly dropped it as I heard the shrill screams of my sister.
By then, I had crawled into the closet and dialed the police. I think I was crying, because I could feel a steady wetness dripping down onto my hands. I could still hear my sister crying out while I quickly dialed, and hurriedly whispered into the phone my name and address, and for someone to (for the love of God) hurry up. I hung up and put the phone away. Just as I did this, my sister’s screams stopped, and my blood froze. What had happened. Had she…?
I suppressed a scream as I heard footsteps coming down the stairs again. Slow, measured steps that walked towards the closet. The handle turned and the figure walked in, shutting the door and preventing me from getting a good look. And now, as I finish writing this, I am hiding this in the coat pocket here in the closet. Hope this explains everything.
.::------------------::.
A man, tall and muscular with a shaven head walks out of the closet. Blood covers his clothes and hands, as well as a knife he holds in one hand. Blood of the dog; blood of the girl; blood of the boy. And then there was a deafening silence. He shakes his head without remorse. The boy had thought his sister had been with him, and let his guard down. The man had taken this opportunity and slit his throat, reveling in the sick pleasure of the act of tearing away someone’s life. He still feels his spine shiver at the thought of what he’d done; a pleasant tingling sensation.
As he opened the door, he glances in and sees that in the boy’s grip is a letter and a coat in his lap. The man reaches down for the letter and scans over it; apparently, the kid had been trying to write something to the police so it would be easier to figure out who the killer was. The man laughs quietly at this, and rips the letter into tiny shreds, before walking over to the dead dog at the foot of the stairs, and rams the shredded paper in the dog’s open jaws.
That done, he sighs and leaves through the back door, feeling disappointed at how easily it had gone. Not much of a challenge. He stalked through the dark neighborhood and looked for another unlocked door.
.::Kyande::.
