Somebody is at the front door. Hannah anticipates their hand rolling into a ball and delivering three successive raps on the wooden frame, but they pull at the handle instead. It jiggles, the sound shooting through the house. Even though she sees him on the computer screen, she jumps at the rattle, whipping her head in the direction of the door.
With bated breath, Hannah fixates her eyes back onto the screen. Through the camera, his gaze locks with hers and she gasps, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. She anticipates it again, the balling of his fists to knock on the door, but he digs into the front pockets of his trousers instead, revealing a key. She backs away from the computer with wide eyes.
The news broadcasted on the radio this morning plays through her mind, the words replaying much like a haunting soundtrack. A serial killer on the loose, it said. Lock your doors. It seems like he just enters houses and lays in wait, no signs of forced entry left behind. The key flashes through her mind. What if he is just a friend of a friend, she reasons. Cassidy is too trusting, she chastises in her head. Too many boyfriends, too little time. Inconvenient to say the least, that is what she’s been, letting strangers into the house like this. But still, despite convincing herself that this is the reality, not the darker shade of what could be, she grabs the knife next to the computer and runs into the nearest room, clicking the door shut behind her.
“Hello?” His voice bounces across the walls.
Hannah holds her breath, her back pressed against the door. It’s a bathroom she finds herself in, all tiles, shine and cracked mirrors. The hello that echoes through the house furrows her brows. Surely an intruder won’t be stupid enough to announce himself, much less a serial killer. Or brave enough. It seems like he just enters houses and lays in wait, no signs of forced entry left behind. Her hand hovers above the doorknob.
“Cassidy?” His footsteps tap across the floor outside of the bathroom. Doors creak open and she pictures him propping a head inside, eyes searching. “Babe, I know you’re upset, but ignoring me is rather childish.”
With a shaky inhale, she opens the door and steps outside before he can get to the end of the hallway. He spins around at the sound, lifting his hands above his head.
“Woah-woah.” Round eyes, he trots backwards. “What do you have there, sweetheart?”
Hannah follows his gaze to the knife clutched in her hand. “I thought you were a serial killer.” She laughs as the words leave her, the absurdity of it all like ice water dumped on her head. He adds an awkward chuckle.
“Where’s Cassidy?”
“Sleeping,” she rolls her eyes, motioning to the room at the end of the hall. Her muscles relax, any sense of danger retreating. “Count on Cassidy to invite someone over and decide to take a nap.”
He scoffs. “That’s not even the worst of it, trust me. She could sleep through a murder. I’m Ivan, by the way.”
“Hannah.” She winces. “That’s a poor choice of words considering the madman breaking into people’s homes and murdering them.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here.” He turns around, heading to Cassidy’s room. “She’ll never accept my offer to sleep over so that she’s not all alone, but I’m not taking no for an answer. Not after another family was found dead this morning.”
“Boyfriend?” Hannah asks, mimicking his steps so that she falls in right behind him, her footsteps matching his.
“Something like that.” In a swift motion he turns around. Her hands fall onto his chest, bracing herself against him. The knife misses his chin. “You’re the childhood friend who’s suddenly reconnecting.”
“Something like that.” Her cheeks flush.
He whistles. “The stories I’ve heard about you.”
She continues behind him towards the door. When he turns the knob Hannah can’t help but ask, “Really? Am I the hero or villain?”
“Villain,” he laughs, pushing the door open. The laugh ends in a strangled cry and he pushes her back before she can get a good look at the room. “We need to get out,” he shouts, shoving her back by her shoulders. He shuts the door, but not fast enough and she catches a glimpse of it, the bloodied body slumped over the bed. Her blood runs cold.
Ivan shakes her by her shoulders. “Come on,” his eyes dart wildly around him. “He might still be in the house.”
“Who?” Hannah frowns.
His eyes burn into hers, the words sending a chill through her body. “The madman.”
He pushes past her, grabbing onto her free hand and pulling her behind him. “Presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
Ivan peers behind him, his face scrunched up. Behind his orbs panic flares. “What?”
“To assume that it’s a man.”
“What are y-“
But his words catch in his throat as the knife pierces through his neck. His eyes bulge and he claws at Hanna’s throat, but the blood that gushes onto her makes it difficult for his grip to tighten, especially when she pulls the knife out and slams it back in. Instead of hers, his fingers clutch onto his own throat and he sinks at her feet, gurgling.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
Her hand clutching the phone trembles and she lets out a strangled cry. “Yes, hi,” she chokes on her own words. “A man broke into our house.”
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Please like and comment if you liked The Intruder, an original short story by Shakierah Prins.
Thank you for reading ❤️
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