The Butcher

He watches the street lamp flicker on and off. On and off, on and off. He walks a never ending road, and doesn't stop. He has been stuck on the street and has no where to go. Homeless, helpless and alone. All his life, he has felt this way, even at school, where other kids would tease him as he had a plastic back as a school backpack and his filthy clothes. Michael wishes he could be invincible, but how can he be, when his mother has spent all of her earnings on alcohol? He thinks of these horrible memories as the breeze in the air blows in his dark hair. It's so calm, so soft. Michael stops. What has possessed him to do that? "What is happening??" He thinks. He feels like he's stuck in mud. He can't get away. He turns around and a ghastly house is looking at him. A cold shiver runs down his spine like a spider is running over his back. "Michael" a creepy voice is whispering his name, and it's in his head. He looks around and notices the creepy house looks different from all the others. The other houses are neat and tidy, with freshly cut grass. This house, however, has grass at least a metre long, and the house looks dilapidated, which makes him wonder if it could fall on him. It's so ancient, murky and mysterious.

The gate slowly makes a long creaking sound as Michael opens it. As if possessed, he doesn't know what he's doing. He can't stop. He reaches the veranda and a putrid smell hits his nostrils. He gags and feels like throwing up. He opens the door to the house and steps in. A squelching noise bursts in his eardrums and he looks down at his feet. His converse shoes are covered with mud, swishing and swashing about. There is disgusting mould filling the house. "Yuck!!" He yells, as his voice echoes through the home. He steps again and gags. Michael covers his mouth with his dark red shirt.
He feels like turning back, but the doorknob shuts on his way out. The lock slowly turns as he desperately shakes the doorknob. "HELP!!" He gasps. He wants to shout and yell and scream, but no one will hear him. Thoughtfully, he keeps his mouth shut, and squelches his way to the stairs. He grabs the railing and pulls his way out of the mud and mould. He takes his first step, second step, third step.

Suddenly, a scream rattles his ear drums. He is petrified as he smells the scent of blood. He screams. He can't take it anymore. He runs up the stairs to find a window. He wants to get up there so badly. He runs and runs and runs. He sees the top. He runs to the last step and gasps as he sees the figure of a lifeless body. Blood is gushing down the body. He starts to have difficulty breathing. He looks at her arms, her fingers, they're gone and they're all around the room. He tries to ignore the shocking dead body in front of him and spots a piece of paper taped to the window. In shock horror, he rips it off. "I'm coming for you, so don't run, don't hide. If you do, watch out for me, because you will die." The paper is written in fresh blood. He feels it with his thumb... sticky and wet.

He drops the paper and wipes his hand. He doesn't know what to do. Should he escape? Or should he stay and wait? Either way he will die. He sits and puts his head in his hands. He looks at his dirty fingernails. His hands are shaking and tears drop from his eyes. He thinks hard. He needs to escape. It is watching him, he knows that. Whatever it is, he knows that it can sense his fear, anger and grief.

He stands up and walks to the window. He has a plan to get out. Suddenly, with a rush of adrenaline, he kicks open the window as hard as he can he kicks and kicks and kicks. The window won't budge. He stares at the window with fear. "It's coming to get me, it's coming to get me" he repeats in his head. Suddenly he hears footsteps. His heart is racing, beating faster than a cheetah. He doesn't want to turn around; he is too scared to even move. He turns his head slowly and lets out a horrific scream. He realises he's facing a tall, freaky looking man in a bloodied apron. He looks at the man with his wide eyes and speaks hungrily "do you realise you are about to die?" The words repeat in Michaels head. The man takes out a long butchers knife and looks at Michael with an evil grin. Michael wants to scream, he can sense that he is going to die, whether he likes it or not. "So, shall we cut your fingers off first?"