Nothin' Worse Than The Devil

Last Impression

You headed downstairs, searching for him. No where. You looked over to the front door, noticing it was cracked open slightly. Shutting it, you found yourself confused of the whole situation. Maybe he was having another one of his moments and so you brushed it off. You tidied up the kitchen and livingroom and washed some clothes. Folding each shirt neatly, unraveling the rinkles, you couldn't stop thinking about what you all just did. You smiled, excitement rushed over your body as you remembered what kind of person he is. Being able to get so close to someone like him would definitely be book worthy.

A few hours had gone by, you waited at the kitchen table hoping he would come back any second. Flipping page after page, reading to pass time, the clock ticked louder and louder. You huffed out of frustration and shut your book, giving up. Your eyes started to become heavy, rubbing them you headed upstairs to head to bed. Sliding your legs under the soft sheets, you thought back to him again. Those.. scars. What could those be from. Some of them looked freshly healed, others seemed as if they were there for years. Stab wounds? You planned to ask him about them but knowing he could snap at the wrong use of words, you decided to keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

You awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of glass breaking from downstairs. You sat up quickly, grabbing your gun from underneath your bed that you purchased after you started to get close to Michael. Y'know.. just in case something happened. Stepping out into the hallway, you pointed your gun at the kitchen, noticing the window closest to the door was shattered. The door stood wide open, letting the midnight cold air brush itself throughout the kitchen. Creeping down the stairs, you stayed alert in case this wasn't Michael being a dumbass. Shutting the door, locking it, anyone who was inside is now staying until police force's arrive. Lifting your gun to aim level, you noticed a shadow sweep through the livingroom. Cautiously walking over, you turned the corner quickly finding the tall figure standing in the darkest corner of the livingroom.

"Come out. I'm not afraid to shoot asshole." You said confidently.

He stepped out of the darkness. You dropped the gun to your side, sighing in relief.

"Jesus did you really have to break the window. I could've shot you."

He didn't say anything, but something about his silence was not the same as it usually was. The air felt dense and his presence seemed to make your heart rate pick up. You stepped back slightly, gripping your gun once more. This isn't Michael. He walked towards you quickly, and with quick reaction you shot him in the shoulder. He groaned, taking a step back as he held onto his shoulder. You took this opportunity to run upstairs and locked yourself in your room. Whoever this was taking over him, maybe you could wait it out until he was himself again. You sat on your bed, holding your gun close as his footsteps thumped loudly up the stairs. They got louder, getting closer to the door. Silence. It was uncomfortably quiet. The doorknob was being attempted to open, but stopped quickly after he realized it was locked. You could hear his heavy breathing from outside the door, it felt as if he was right in your ear. A loud crack came from the door, you flinched. It was dark in your room so you couldn't make out what he was doing. Another crack, and another. You quickly realized he was breaking the door down with his fists. You closed your eyes, holding back your tears. Your window was your only escape now, but it was 35 feet from the ground. Leaving the gun, you opened up the window as splinters started to fly through the room as the door cracked in half. You looked down at the cold muddied ground, heights never seemed to soothe your stomach. You looked back as the door was slammed open. He was quick to move in the room, heading straight for you. Closing your eyes, you let yoursef fall through the window. But before you could even make it halfway out, he grabbed ahold of you by the hair, pulling you back in. Throwing you across the room, you hit your face on the hard wood roughly. You backed away from him quickly on your hands and feet and pleaded,

"Michael please stop!"

He didn't. Something had ahold of him. And whatever it was, he was able to fight it off this long until now. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you remembered back to his documentaries. How did you forget. One of his top cases was mentioned so often and you were dumb enough to ignore it. "His greatest fetish was getting to know his victims. Either through stalking, or through trust." It read. He stepped over you, wrapping both hands around your throat as he squeezed. You struggled against his grip, kicking your feet and trying to hit his forearms. You noticed the plate that still laid on the side table, you reached for it. It barely touched your finger tips as you tried to gasp for air. Pushing it closer to you, you were able to get ahold of it, smashing it over his head. This caused him to let go of your throat, stumbling backwards as he held his head. You took this as your chance to run, you headed for the door but he was quick to react and grabbed your foot. You gritted your teeth, kicking him in the face. Nearly flying down the stairs, you darted for the door. The nearest public place was atleast a few miles south. You took your chances and ran into the woods, your feet sloshing through the mud. You ran as fast as your feet could take you, almost slipping every now and then. You started to slow down, catching your breath when you noticed he wasn't far behind.

"Fuck." You said breathlessly.

You picked up the pace, trying to get as much distance as you could from him. Twigs snapped under each foot step, leaves rustled out of the way as you glided through the forest. No matter how fast you ran, he always seemed to be right behind you, breathing down your neck. Your legs started to become sore and your calves started to burn. You looked behind you, he was gripping the large kitchen knife intending to kill you with it. Before you knew it, you tripped over a rock. Looking down at it, you gasped. It was the size of a football, like in the dream. The dream, it has become a reality. Thats why you had so many night terrors. It was trying to warn you.

"No no no no no!" You screamed aloud, not wanting to accept what was happening.

His loud footsteps thudded behind you. As you turned around on the ground, you tried to crawl backwards shielding your face with your forearm.

"Michael, please what is going on!" You cried out.

He didn't seem to react to your cries, and stepped on your stomach, pinning you to the cold wet ground. You tried to scream out for help but the only thing that came out was a harsh rasp. No one was coming for you, no one could help you. The only thing you could see was that expressionless mask staring down at you. Raising his knife in the air, he cocked his head to the side.

"W-why." You whispered, tears streaming down your face.

The knife cut through the air, you screamed in horror as it came closer to your body. You were cut off as it plunged into your chest. Blood spilled out from your mouth, streaming down the sides of your face. You couldn't say anything, nothing but the sounds of you choking on your blood escaped your mouth. He ripped the knife from your chest, plunging it into you over. and. over again.

He watched as your body slowly became limp, standing up, leaving your body to rot in the woods. No one was coming for you, no one could help you now.