The Longest Night

Chapter 3

Stranger POV-

I slowly climb the stair gripping the wooden bat I got from the basement as I patiently wait for him to come out of the kitchen. I hear some rumbling of stuff in the kitchen as I peek and watch him stand near the counter with a knife. I back off and adjust the missing knife he's looking for placed in the back of my jeans.

After a minute or so I hear footsteps coming closer. I tighten my grip on the bat. He is too careless, how boring I ponder to myself. I thought it would all be at least a bit entertaining. Anyways.

He walks out and seizing the golden opportunity I hit his head.

"K.O." I chortled.

I hit him hard but not hard enough to kill him that wouldn't be pleasurable, would it. I watch his body dimly fall on the wooden floor. He tries to move but fails. I watch him desperately groan in pain and his fingers quiver as he tries to crawl. I wouldn't do that if I were in his place.

He gathers some strength to look at me which sparks the slightest of excitement in me. A smirk forms on my lip as I try to guess what he would do or say. I start to imagine him trying to fight back but everything droops as he losses consciousness.

Disappointing.

I crouch down and sit on my toes in front of his face and tilt my head to examine his face properly. He is way too good-looking to be a web developer. I could see a trail of blood flowing down the back of his neck. Did I hit too hard? I slowly reach out my hand towards his neck and slide my fingers on the flowing blood. I admire my blood-stained fingers as I rub my thumb over it to feel its warmth.

And to that, I couldn't help but laugh. I burst out laughing seeing him lay there like a limp. The voice of my laughter ripples in the empty house filling all the abyss.

FLASHBACK

I stand in front of this big house in a heavy downpour, water pours down on my black raincoat. Each drop sits on my skin like a puddle that will never leave, perfectly formed, perfectly cold. I feel the water steal my body heat just a tiny bit at a time. Perhaps once I had some sort of warmth - but no longer. I don't even remember when and how I lost it and become accustomed to the elements, to the wind and chill. There is coziness in my suffering as if life has and will always be this way.

The house stands amidst the manicured lawn as if beamed there rather than constructed. The exterior is more on the modern side as if it's a cut-out from architects today magazine. Everything is geometrical the front door and square windows on both sides of it. The house is just one floor tall but for a man living alone... it's too much of an ideal space.

I make my way to the side of the house which is surrounded by bushes.  Wet sounds follow every step I take on puddled grass as I walk. I reach the basement window which is so low that it is almost touching the ground. It is small but enough for me to pass through.

I swiftly turn and pick a small rock from the garden and sit down behind a bush. I smash the rock on the window with force just enough to make it weak. A crack runs across the glass, finding the weaknesses that were once invisible. From perfect window to something belonging in the downtown core happens faster than the naked eye can appreciate. Instead of hitting it again, I push it. Then like a coil suddenly relieved of tension the new fragments fly down until they lie still yet vicious in the failing wet grass. Breaking glass has become my art, my calling card. Watching them shatter releases just a fragment of the rage that keeps me upright, a sort of modern bloodletting that allows me to sleep the next night.

I cover my hands with the raincoat and push all the extra glass down before unlocking the window from inside. I open the window and squeeze my way into the basement.

As soon as I get on the floor my nostrils fill up with a pungent smell of rusted iron and wet wood. The room looks as if it hasn't been used for ages. The bricks seemed weak, the paint wore off and a layer of dust coated everything. The walls shift and creak and the looming emptiness of the room is unavoidable.

The darkroom was illuminated by just a single blur beam of light that was just enough to identify things. I could see some ugly mismatched furniture placed in a corner waiting to be refurbished.

I start to walk and midway I stumble on some old boxes and crates filled with some old stuff. Ignoring it I press forward and reach the weak wooden stairs and as soon as I place my leg on the first step I hear the basement door being unlocked. I scoot down and crawl to the back of the stairs instantly.

Shit!

To be continued...