Whispers of a Killer

Home invaded; Privacy destroyed.

We all know that feeling we have, when something isn't right. That gnawing at the pit of your stomach, the sudden rushing of your heartbeat that feels like it might just burst out of our chests.

Some people, unlike me, are paranoid. And so, experience this much more often than others. On the other hand, there are some people, who like me, experience it at more practical or more understandable times.

Those times when you have to sneak out to get something but the whole house is dark and you don't want to wake anyone. When you really have to pee, but don't want to risk it even though the bathroom is just across the hall. Or, possibly at an even more cliché time than that. One, that movies have exploited so many times, we've probably all become numb to the idea of it: The times when we take late-night showers. When we're minding our own business, just trying to get clean, and finally come to the worst part. Washing our hair.

You feel so vulnerable, because your eyes are shut and at any time someone could sneak in and try something. You're scared because you can't see - you're not fully aware of things.

You can't open your eyes, because you'll get soap in them. Then you really won't be able to see. Either way, you're screwed. It is considered by some to be completely irrational; being afraid someone will be standing there if you open your eyes while or after washing your hair.

For others, it is a completely rational idea. Some may develop a fear so bad that they escalate to having Ablutophobia, which is a fear of bathing or taking showers at all in general.

I really do wish that I had paid attention to my own feelings of fear. If I had, perhaps I wouldn't be in the situation I am in right now.

You see, I have found myself in the oddest situation one can imagine. Or at least, that I can imagine.

I was taken by a serial killer. Who not only did not kill me, he did not kill my family either. I am guessing, however, it is my cooperation with him and his strange demon dog that kept them safe.

Anyway, back to what I was saying about fear and showers.

It is an overly cliché thing -- girls in showers ending up getting slashed up, screaming their heads off while the killer is laughing his head off like some kind of lunatic on crack. That stuff is not really scary anymore. What is  scary,  is when you're minding your own business, like I was; just washing my hair. It was probably a bad idea to take a late-night shower, as I have come to think; though I still do not believe that I deserved what happened to me for it.

I was washing my hair, trying to remember all the words to the song that I was humming, when I felt a very cold metal object tracing its way up my spine. I froze, afraid to turn around. The soap ran down the sides of my face and the bridge of my nose, just missing my eyes. Wiping the soap out of my face as best as I could, I turned around.

Standing across from me, in the small area of the shower that one would barely get wet in if they stood there; was another person. Not only that, it was a boy. Instinctively, I covered my chest. Or..tried to. I am not really the smallest thing ever, so it wasn't really easy to do.

"Who the fucking hell are you?!" I asked, scooting away from the strange person. I couldn't see much of his face because for some reason he'd chosen to wear sunglasses inside, as well as a bandanna around the lower half of his face. That part, I thought, just made him look dumb. Other than that, he appeared to have dark hair and was wearing a dingy white, bloodstained, hoodie over a pair of black pants.

In answer to my question, he just laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, either.

I felt extremely uncomfortable, mostly because I hate my body. I'm more pudgy than I am thin -- enough to be self conscious, but I guess not really 'fat' fat. as a result of this, I have gained a few stretch marks here and there. Not hugely bad, but again, I have no self confidence or esteem at all. I'm paler than snow, not very tall, and have a bit of a problem with acne; made worse by my anxious habit of picking at my skin. Anyway, I am not the most attractive thing in the world in my eyes. I've had a lot of people tell me to "Shut up," because "I'm beautiful and need to accept it." I think they're all blind. Or, in denial. Or both.