Demonic Torment - Ronnie Radke

Two

"Hello Kelsey," a deep voice said.

I jumped, turning around to see a guy about my age with black hair and tattoos. "Who the fuck are you?!" I yelled, pulling my dress back down.

"That's not important," he chuckled, stepping closer to me, "what's important is that I finally have my opportunity."

"You step any closer I swear to god I'll-" I stopped speaking, remembering I left my pocket knife downstairs.

"You'll what," he smirked, stepping closer. My body shook in fear, realizing my weapon and phone were both downstairs. He chuckled, "that's what I thought."

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, my voice cracking as I stepped back as he stepped toward me.

My back hit the wall, making him smirk as he approached me. His hands found mine, pulling my arms above my head and pinning them there. "You know," he spoke, so close to me that I could feel his breath on my neck, "you have a very interesting past, Kelsey."

"Who are you? A friend of my fathers?" I spat.

He grinned, "of course not," he smirked, running his finger across my cheek, "I was just sent to torment you."

"Sent by who?" I struggled to shake my wrists free, his grip much stronger than humanly possible.

"That's not important," he said, his eyes turning completely black, no white to be seen.

"What the fuck are you?" I asked, pressing my body harder against the wall, him now seeming even more terrifying.

"You'll learn soon, Kelsey," his voice changed, now sounding more like a growl as he spoke.

"How do you know my name?" I asked, my body trying to wiggle free from his grasp. His leg moved against mine, now holding my entire body still.

"I've been following you for nearly a year now," he said, "you weren't paranoid earlier, I just fucked up and moved while you were here. All of those creaks you've heard were me. Every time you felt eyes on you, it was me. At the club, when you turned around because someone grabbed your waist, that was me. It's been me for a while now, all day and all night. I follow you during the day and I watch you sleep at night, you have been my toughest mission yet."

I let out a cry, "why are you doing this?"

His thumb rubbed over my cheek again, "because I was ordered to. Now, don't cry, it's nauseating." He gave a disgusted look as his hands moved down to my waist and suddenly I was thrown on my bed.

He was on top of me, my hands pinned over my head again. I whimpered at the force of his grip. I felt his hand ease up a bit. "Stop, please!" I cried.

"Don't fucking scream," he growled, his hand now covering my mouth, "make this easy."

Tears began flowing down my cheeks, dripping onto his hand. His eyes met mine, staring into them. I was confused, nothing was happening, he was just staring at me. He was struggling, struggling to do what he was going to do, whatever that was. I sobbed, letting out muffled screams as I felt his hand  that was holding my mouth dig into my skin.

Next thing I knew, he was across the room breathing heavily. I sat up, wiping the tears off my face, my heart going a mile a minute. I looked at him, his eyes now showing the whites of them. "Get the fuck out of my house," I growled, standing and walking over to him.

Suddenly, my back was against the wall again, his hand holding me there by my throat. "You tell anyone I swear I will kill you," he spat.

"You-"

"Don't fucking speak," he growled, squeezing my neck harder, "I'll be back for you."

He was gone. The temperature of the room warmed up as soon as he'd left. I coughed, my throat feeling bruised.

Who was he? What was he? Why was he doing this? How didn't I realize he'd been watching me for nearly a year?

Questions raced through my mind as I debated calling the police, but his words flashed in my head. Would he really kill me? I walked over to my bed, laying down and curling into a ball, holding my knees with my arms.

I didn't sleep that night, all of the things he said racing through my head.

————

When I saw the morning light flooding into my room, I got up and went to the bathroom. My makeup from the night before now streaming down my face from crying, my dress wrinkled.

I changed and washed my face, now paranoid that he was watching me. I washed my face as quickly as possible, drying my face in a rush to look around the room. Nothing. But was there really nothing? I always thought it was nothing, but after last night, I knew he was always here.

I walked back into my bedroom, "if you're here, you better get out!" I yelled, trying to seem tough, "I'll call the cops!"

"No you won't," I heard his voice and frantically looked around my room but saw nothing.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" I screamed.

No response.

I rushed downstairs and grabbed my pocket knife, putting it in my pocket. This thing is going with me everywhere now. I walked to the living room and grabbed my phone.

8 missed calls from Caitlin.

I called her, "hey," I said, still looking around the room to see if he was here. God, I was losing it, was he really here last night? Is my head making things up?

"What happened to you last night? I tried to call but you didn't answer."

"I... I crashed when I got home and my phone was in my purse," I answered, lying.

I heard a chuckle.

I looked around the room again, now standing with my knife in my hand. "Oh, okay, are you coming to work today?" She asked.

I looked at the clock on the wall. Fuck. I'm late. "Shit, yeah, let me get ready."

I hung up, dashing upstairs and got dressed. I didn't worry about makeup, I didn't have time.

When I grabbed my purse and opened the front door I thought about what he said.

"Don't fucking follow me!" I yelled, holding out my pocket knife.