She moved silently, sticking to dark corners. She peeked around a corner at the victim's bedroom. Right in arm's reach. She smiled, a psychotic one. After checking if she had any tailers, she rounded the corner and approached the bedroom she had been tracking for a week. The door was locked. Good thing she knew how to pick them. Quietly, she pushed the door open and entered. She raked her nails down the hinges of the door and then ran. She ducked under the footboard as her victim checked the door. She watched as her victim looked out the door. Now or never. She grabbed one of her thin knives from her ankle holster. She turned and threw the knife at the victim's neck. It struck true, and his blood splattered on the floor. He struggled for breath and his body fell forwards on the not so fancy carpet. She heard voices in the hall and she darted forward, grabbed her needle and pushed the widows open. She climbed onto the outside sill and moved out into the night.
YOU ARE READING
Hooded Doom
HororShe paints in life like red paint. They lock the doors at night. That doesn't stop her. She'll still get in. Police investigations come out negative. Not even CSI can catch her. Her kills are silent.
