Chapter 3: The Killer in My Home

3.

My mind went blank—I even forgot to run.

Those two hands crawled forward, half a body slowly emerging from under the sofa.

He looked up, staring straight at me.

It was a face I had never seen before.

Deep lines etched across his cheeks, sunken skin pulling at his facial muscles, a few strands of white hair at his temples.

Was this the serial killer on the loose?

He looked like someone you’d see at the Piggly Wiggly, just another tired face in the checkout line. His appearance was so ordinary, so nondescript he could blend into any crowd. No wonder the police hadn't caught him yet.

My mouth was half open, but the scream was stuck in my throat, every hair on my body standing on end.

Run!

I turned and bolted for the door. As soon as my hand touched the doorknob, my whole body was yanked backward.

A sharp pain shot through my scalp as a powerful force dragged me to the ground.

I fell, struggling to turn my head, and saw his right hand gripping my hair tightly, his left hand pulling a knife from his coat.

Finally, I began to scream.

My limbs thrashed violently, desperately trying to crawl away.

But I couldn't break free.

The man stared wide-eyed, his hands trembling slightly, panting heavily.

The tip of the knife got closer and closer.

I screamed and begged incoherently, hoping to scare him off:

"Please go, I'm begging you, I won't call the cops. If you kill me, my boyfriend will find out in the morning—you won't get away!"

He just snorted coldly, and in the next second, a searing pain erupted in my chest.

My screams turned into trembling sighs, my chest quickly soaking with blood.

Blood...

I lay weakly on the ground, feeling my body grow colder, the whole world slipping away from me.

The ticking of the clock sounded in my ears. Through blurry vision, I saw the hands inching forward.

Finally, they stopped at 2 a.m.

My mind flashed with memories: sticky summers on Tybee Island, Thanksgiving disasters, Derek’s laughter echoing off the living room walls. Then nothing but the steady, merciless tick of time.