The Bad Man

He's been stalking me. For weeks. I don't know who he is, but I know what he is and what he wants. He's dangerous. He's killed before, and he'll do it again. And he wants to take me... Take me away from here, to a cold place, a terrible place, a place from which I'll never return. One false step and he'll get me. I must not let this happen.

I was cautious, very cautious. Yet he found me anyway. I'm not safe anywhere. At all times, I can feel him watching me - even when I can't see him. And now he's here. He's right here in my home, my sanctuary.

So I hid. I hid because I was afraid. At first, that's all it was: fear. But as I watched him skulk about my house, violating my home, fear turned to anger. I know that he is capable of horrible things. I know he is stronger than I am. Perhaps I am doomed for all eternity, but I will not go down without a fight.

Got to think. Got to be resourceful. My heart is throbbing, and feels like it's temporarily relocated to my throat. I wipe the sweat from my palms on my jeans. Keep it together, man. Just do what has to be done. Face the fear. Defeat the fear. Let anger guide you. Okay, pep talk over. I'm ready.

He moves out of sight and I take up a new vantage point. A corner in the kitchen. I'm no longer obscured, but there's only one way into this room from where he's gone, and he won't see me when he comes back. Even though I know it's probably futile, I silently slide a knife from the counter into my hand. As quietly as possible, I reach for a quarter in my pocket. This is it. This is really happening. It's not a dream; it's not a nightmare. Or if it is, it's a nightmare that has become real.

I am silent. I'm a statue, I'm a ghost. For all my fear and outrage and adrenaline, I start to transcend the moment. Time seems to slow. The kitchen clock goes tick, tick, tick. My heart goes thump, thump, thump. I hear him step, step, step. Closer. Closer still. Only one shot at this.

Step, step, step. He's coming back into the kitchen. I'm perpendicular to the doorway, partially obscured by the shadows. If he turns his head, I'm done for. But he's already checked this room, so he'll walk straight through it, right? I can only hope. Step, step, step. God have mercy, he's five feet from me. This is it, this is my only chance. As swiftly and silently as I can, I throw the quarter a few yards in front of him.

Please God, let this work.

Stumble, stumble, stumble. He runs forward. Everything is a blur. I run up behind him, raise the knife, slash it across his throat. He drops to his knees. A few moments of gurgling, then - sweet silence.

I did it. I made it. Home free. I feel like everything has gone into black and white. Am I in shock? Is this real? Is the nightmare over? I drop the knife in the kitchen sink. Clean-up will come later.

Hands still slightly shaking, I unlock the basement door and descend the stairs. Stupid fucking pig. Did he think i was some kind of amateur? That he was going to make the front page of the local news rag? That he was going to make detective for this? What a dumb bastard. Oh well - he's dead, I'm not.

I flick on the light, and she scuttles into a corner. She looks absolutely terrified. Well, what more can you expect from a twelve year old girl locked in your basement? Gently, lovingly, I wipe a tear from her cheek while unzipping my fly. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. The bad man is gone."