Dark Calling

One:

She
doesn’t need to see him to
know
he’
s there. 
She
can
hear the distinctive sound of his footsteps.
Ugly sounds. 
Sounds only he mak
e
s
.  Step, slide. 
Step, slide.  The way it sounds as his feet fi
nd the fine particles of di
rt on
the smooth cement floor.  L
ike nails on a chalk board.  Step, screech.  Step, screech. 

H
uddle
d
in the corner
of a
filthy warehouse
,
surrounded by empty pallets
,
her
hoodie doubles
as a cloak of invisibili
ty. E
yes unwilli
ng to close even though she
want
s
nothing more than t
o block him from her sight.  Her
hunter, who i
s
surprising
ly
light.  His meticulously
combed
golden hair,
flawless
pale skin, d
ressed
in
a stunning
white
suit
.  He is burned into her eyes, into her
memories, forever.

Darkness is supposed to be ominous, where evil lives and hate is br
ed.  But the dark keeps her
hidden
.  Keeps her
s
afe. 
If she
hadn’t
dressed h
ead to toe in
her
black
costume
, if it weren’t
night
, if shadows weren’t blanketing
he
r,
shielding h
e
r from the monster, she
’
d be dead already
.

No.  Darkness isn’t bad.

His wor
ds echo in her
head
like a throbbing headache.
 

“Here kitty, kitty
,
kitty.”  Step, slide.  “I just want to play.”  Step, screech.
 
Light reflects off his
perfect
white
teeth, off the th
ic
k, sharp blade in his fist.  S
hrink
ing
bac
k as tight against the wa
ll as possible, she wishes desperately
for the possibility to
melt into the br
ick
.  It scratches against
her
back where
the bare skin
is
exposed
between her jeans and jacket.  S
he
barely feel
s
it.

He
’s standing in front of her, t
all and lean.  More like a model than
a murderer, but she knows better now
. 
She
can smell the sicke
n
ing sweet stench of cigars.  Her eyes focus on the speckles of crimson that dot his sleeve and know
s
it
i
s blood.  K
now
s it belongs to her.  Squeezing
her
fist
s
, she
feel
s the burn in her
for
e
arm. 

He takes a step forward.  Step, slide.  Eyes
scrunch
ing shut,
she
hold
s her
breath.  Fear shakes her
tightened limbs
.

Step, screech.  Step,
screech.  Her
eyes pop open and dart from side to side.  The monste
r is gone.  Instead of relief, she is
consumed with
unbearable
panic. 
Where is he
?  Is he
hiding?  Waiting
?
 

Terror makes it hard to breath.
  Moving could be a mistake
.  It could ex
pose her, but as her
eyes glide
t
o the open doorway
,
the hope of freedom screams her name
.  It’s t
he only means of escape.  Deciding
it isn’t that far as her
fingers grip the
mortar between the bricks, s
he
pull
s herself up
.  T
urn
s her
head
to the left,
eyes search
ing.  Then to the right.  Breaths pant
ing
out as
s
w
eat trickles down the back of her
neck. 
D
irty blond hair clings to
her skin. 
She
lift
s her
foot
to st
ep over the crate blocking
her
path
and
freeze
s.  Her s
enses are
dull
ed
and hei
ghte
ned at the same time.  Not
feel
ing
the cold o
r the dampness
of the night
.  Not noticing
the blood running down her slender
arm and dripping from
battered
fingertips.  The gash in her a
rm
scarcely
hurts.  But the smell.  The sticky thickness of cigar smoke, old and stale, sends warnings to some more alert sense.  A sob nearly esc
apes her throat.  She
choke
s it down.  Her
eyes search again
, bulging in the sockets
.  Raking across the
cluttered warehouse.
They move up, then down.

Where are you, you bastard?

Inhaling deeply, she tries
to focus. 
I can do this.  I made it this far.  I will not let him win.
  Another
deep breath.  She tries
to listen, to hear any sound abo
ve the hammering heartbeat in her
ears.
  Her body’s noises
are muc
h too loud. 
Can he hear them?

“Oh, come on K
it
ten,” he says.
 
“Let’s not be like this
.
”
  H
is voice is shockingly close, w
ords smooth, crisp.  It’s an
angel’s
voice on the lips of a devil
.
  She
gasp
s
, startled.  Hands grip
her throat before she has
time to react
.  Their
eyes lock, his a
be
autiful icy blue
full of malice. 
Her
trembling
hands grip his wrists,
dirt crusted
nails digging in.

“Please,” she tries
to beg, but it’s
an unintelligible rasp. 
White dots fill her vision, swimming in front of her
like happy little fireflies
.  Her lungs beg for air.  She
begin
s
to thrash.  Hitting him, punching him, kicking h
im.
She uses all h
er strength, but he doesn’t even
flinch.  Instead, h
e smiles.  This enrages her
more
than anything else he’s done.
 
More than the attack itself.  But
he’s so much stronger.
She
stop
s fighting.  B
link
s her
eyes several times
,
struggling to see past the tin
y stars that blur in front of her
.  His smile fades
, morphs
into something ugly and
satisfied
.  He enjoys this.  He’s proud.
  He’s disgusting.

Her
hands rele
ase
his wrists,
dropping to her sides.  It’s so loud, the
ringing in her
ears. 
It is incredibly hard to keep her eyes open. 
She’s
gone much too long without air.

One of his hands
leaves
her
th
roat.  Hope bursts into her
chest. 
He’s letting me go
.
  She’s
barely formed the thought when his hand reappears with the knife,
the tip stained with blood. 
My
blood
, she
remind
s herself.  She
thrash
es against him once again, her
limbs flailing helplessly.  He laughs softly.
  It’s like music.

“I think you are
my favorite.”  His
tone
soothing as his
lips touch her forehead, each cheek, her
lips.
  They’
re so cold.  She
shiver
s and tries
to squirm away.  He
presses his lips harder against hers.  Tears rush from her frightened green eyes, soak her
shirt, spill on the floor.
  “My Keely.  My beautiful.”
  He pushes his forehe
ad to hers and sighs.  I
nhales deeply
,
smelling
her
hair.  “I love you.”

The
knife flashes.  There’s a sound
like fabric ripping.  O
nly
,
there’s a sound beneath it.  Something wet. 
Similar to
slurping the b
ottom of a cup with a straw.  Her
mouth tastes of
metal.  She
do
es
n’t understand. 
My neck feels warm. 
My shirt is what? 
Damp?

His hand
relinquishes
its
grip on her throat.  Keely
collapse
s
to the floor.  Step, slide.  Step, slide.  Step, slide.  His f
ootsteps fade into the night.  She tries
to suck in air. 
Just one breath, that’s all she needs. 
There
is a horrible gurgling noise.  She
choke
s.  Tries
to
breathe
again.  Choke
s
more.  Blood spurts from her mouth
, splashing
onto her
face
, into her
eyes. 
My whole body feels wet.  No, cold.  No, numb.
 

Numb is nice.  There is no pain in numbness
.  There is no fear.

Though Keely
know
s it’s useless, her
lungs relentlessly strugg
le to f
ind air.  Each rise of her stomach
only chokes her more as she
drown
s
slowly in her own
blood.
  Dar
kness plays with the edges of her sight.  She
roll
s to her side.  R
oll
s again to her stomach.  R
each
es forward
,
grasping for anything.  Her
finger tips touch the cool cement.
She tries to pull
herself;
her
onl
y thought is
to get through the door. Too weak, s
he
go
es nowhere.  Tries
again, leav
ing
smears
of blood
on the floor.
  Lays
her
cheek to it.
 
T
houghts switch
ing
.  Muddy thought
s.  Hazy, muffled thoughts of her parents.  Of  friends.  Of her dog, Lively.  She
say
s
a silent pr
ayer for God to protect them.  M
outh
s
goodbye.  A fi
nal tear falls, sliding
across her
nose, drops to the floor mixing
into the pool of red. 
The darkness closes in as everything goes black.