A/N: So here's a little horror story that I made up on the fly :D I hope you enjoy!
It was the last day before winter break, and on this particular day I was walking home at a faster pace than usual. The pilot of a TV show that I was interested in seeing aired today, and I didn't want to miss it. However, if worse came to worst and I missed it, I asked my mom to record it either way. No harm, no foul. At one point in my walk, I was almost home and approached the entrance of a neighborhood that I liked to cut through as a shortcut sometimes. I figured that this was a safe bet and would get me home quicker. However, as I took merely one step in, this feeling of uneasiness began to awaken in my gut, as if my gut itself was grabbing my arm in warning. I tried my best to shake it off and will it away, but to no avail. I took another step, and pangs of pain shot through my lower stomach area. I tried reasoning with myself and told myself that it was just cramps for...you know what. But the more I tried to ignore my gut, the more I began to feel that something was...off. I tried ignoring my gut one more time as I took one more step, and I regretted that. I doubled over, thinking that I was going to throw up on the sidewalk right then and there. At that point, it was almost like my gut had materialized and manifested itself into its own being, pulling at my arm and begging me not to go in for fear of exposing myself to imminent danger. As I managed to stand back upright, someone opened the front door of their house. It was a man, looking like he was in his mid-30s to early 40s. He furrowed his eyebrows at me when he saw me.
"You alright over there?" He called out. That was when I knew I had to start listening to my gut.
"No, I---Yes...I'm fine," I shouted as I walked backwards. The feeling of dread in my gut began to retreat, but only by a little bit. But something made me feel uneasy about the man's smile despite his furrowed eyebrows.
"Are you sure?" I nodded, beginning to walk away.
"Uh huh, I'm okay, just...tired," I lied. My gut told me that I needed to get far away from this man, now.
"Alright...if you're sure. Happy holidays!" I weakly waved at him and started to head for home the long way. He watched me walking away until he disappeared from view when I turned the corner. The further I got away from the residency entrance, the more the dreadful, horrible feeling receded from my gut. By the time I arrived home, the feeling was completely gone. I missed the pilot episode of the TV series, but my mom recorded it for me so I could watch it later. I didn't bother to tell her about what happened at the residency entrance.
A few days later on Christmas Eve night, my whole family and I were gathered around the table eating dinner when we heard ear-piercing screams erupt from somewhere in the distance, one by one by one. I jumped with fright as adrenaline rushed through my body, but just as the screams had come, they had gone. I looked to my dad with worry, and he held the same expression that I did, but once he saw the looks on everyone's faces, he cleared his throat.
"Probably just the people in the next neighborhood over playing a game. You know how it is, with it being the holidays and all," my dad tried to reason, but it looked like he was trying to hide his own concern and worry for the sake of his family.
"Your neighbors know how to party!" My uncle guffawed as he slapped my dad on the back jovially. My dad forced out a laugh, trying to ease the tension, and I hesitantly calmed myself down, but was on edge the rest of the night. A little while later when my relatives were getting ready to leave, we heard a flurry of sirens roaring down the street outside the neighborhood. When they grew louder, I looked out the window and saw that they never turned into our neighborhood but instead the one next to hours, making my stomach drop. My parents were naturally nosy people, as were a majority of my family, so my father told my sister and I to stay put as the grown ups and a couple of people from my neighborhood began filing out of their houses to go see what happened. Inside my head, I was grilling myself with endless questions and assumptions, thinking the sirens were connected to the screams, and if maybe...it was all tethered to the phenomenon a few days prior. My stomach was performing flips and practically jostling my insides, like my gut had manifested itself into a person again, jostling me and saying, "I told you!"
A half hour or more had passed until my parents returned along with the rest of the grown ups. Instead of regular or relieved expressions that could have reassured me everything was fine, every last one of their faces was a sickly shade of white. Something had happened, and by the looks of it, it wasn't good. My cousins began begging their parents to tell them what had happened, but instead all of them were gathered together and quickly ushered out the door, my grandparents wordlessly shuffling behind them and bidding quiet goodbyes with my parents before my mother shut the door. When my parents turned to look at us, I saw that tears were streaming down my mother's face, and my father's face was still and as hard as a statue. They sent my sister up to bed and sat me down in the living room. As it had turned out, five people had been murdered in that neighborhood a few days prior, discovered by their family members. Needless to say, I spent most of the night with my head stuck down the toilet, vomiting for God knows how long. The news broadcast that followed highlighting the murders kept me bedridden until New Year's Day: it was confirmed that the murders happened on the exact day I was walking home from school. Not only that, but a mugshot of the killer that followed had showed the man that stepped out of the house and saw me that day. I could recognize those messy, unkempt eyebrows and that slightly unhinged stare anywhere. I don't remember the man's real name, just that he was dubbed "The Even-Numbered Killer" because he liked killing an even number of people. He had killed six people already, two first, and then four. Each time, witnesses secretly watching him fleeing described exactly what I saw: the same messy eyebrows, and the same malevolent glare improperly paired with a deranged grin...
They still haven't caught him. There is still a manhunt for him, still at large. Since then, criminal justice has improved greatly, with alarm systems being placed in, police patrol drives occuring more often, and a curfew being established for 9 PM on weekdays, and 11 PM on weekends. It's been years since it happened, and as much as I'd like to forget it every so often I think back on that day. I keep wondering what would have happened if I didn't listen to the urgings in my gut and I went through that neighborhood anyway, though I knew if I did, I most likely would have ended up as his sixth victim to complete and usher on the even-numbered pattern...
