The Cracks in my Mind

September 17th, 1995

I wake up to bloody foot-prints on my floor. 

I don't notice it at first. All I know is that I was suddenly awake, jerked from one of my crazy abstract dreams. The house whispered around me. Even now, it's far from silent. 

Then I turn my head, and my heart plummets. Starting at the edge of my bed, and trailing out into the hall, is a line of footprints. The floorboards creak, echoing the sound of feet, even though there is nobody here. Nobody except me.

I peer over the side of the bed. The smell of the tracks hit me, and I almost throw up. I never liked the smell of blood.

But blood is exactly what made those foot prints.

This can't be good.

My room suddenly seems small, and dark. I swallow hard, wanting to crawl under the covers, to pretend this was never here. But if I do that, I will never forgive myself. For some reason, I am seeing bloody foot-prints, in the middle of the night, when there is nobody around. Every time I see things, it means something. This is not a coincidence.

Trying not to think about what this could mean, I slip out of bed, carefully avoiding the foot-prints themselves. I have no wish to step in blood, even if it's not really there. I could take a flashlight, but I don't need to. The moonlight glares through the windowless walls of my house, providing more then enough light to see by.

The foot-prints take me though the halls, cutting a quick, efficient path to the door. I don't hesitate, but step quickly outside. It's not like anyone will miss me.  And I'm probably not in any danger.

Probably.

It's only when I'm walking down the deserted, dusty road that leads out of town, that I finally hear the wind. It howls in my ears, slides under my skin, murmurs to me in a secret language. I prick my ears, wanting to stop and listen, but I have to keep going. I don't know if this thing is timed or not.

Turns out it is. Naturally, I only figure this out when it's almost too late. Could be worse, I guess, but still.  I might have gotten there earlier, if it weren't for the darkness, and the trees. And anyways, the foot-prints lead me into the woods that surround our town, and it's always very dark in there.

So it takes a moment to notice the person standing in the middle of the trees. Takes another moment to notice the glint of a knife in his hand, a second before he brings it down.