The Killer on the Polaroid Camera

11th July [Reality]

999, please state what service you require

"I need the police"

999, please state what service you require

"I need the police..."

999, please state what service you require

"For god's sake" whispered Mark, turning his phone off and banging against the desk.

"Mark!!!! What doing you??????? Get sleep, tomorrow School!!!!" Mark's mum yelled. She stormed into the room, threw his clothes at him and hit him in the head, causing his cheek to redden.

Mark closed the door quietly after his Mum left, taking the overwhelming smell of alcohol and weed with her. He heard his mother's bed crash, and he knew she had already fallen asleep. It was just Mark, his mind and his swelling cheek.

Not wanting to wake his mother up, Mark tried to sleep... but he couldn't. All he could think of was the face of the person that killed Heather. Mark knew.

He was more observant than the others, he was able to figure out who has the strength to tear through a window. He knows the person who could have a gun. He knows the motives to killing Heather. Everyone has motives, but with everything combined, it just made sense. And most of all, Heather's photo line. Mark was able to catch a small glimpse of it, before the photos got sent to the police station. In her final photo... you can see the pure blue eyes of her killer. Of course the police wouldn't notice though, they never do.

Mark's phone illuminated, buzzing to life. His friends again, the only pure bit of sanity he had left... minus one of course. He knew that this had to be the time where he told everyone the killer... but first he needed back-up... from the most intellectual person he knew. Clare.

As soon as Mark sent the messages to the chat, he heard the front door open. It must've been one of his Mum's 'play pals'. He probably left behind his watch or something... but as soon as he heard the mystery-man go into the kitchen... he knew something was wrong.

Mark slowly sat up, trying not to make a sound... he knew that this person was here for him, because he knew too much.

He bent down towards his shoes, knowing he'll have to get away quick. Mark was devising a plan to escape. The person downstairs is looking for a weapon, and so if Mark runs out of the door when the person's still looking for something, then he could have the chance to live. As soon as he had slipped on the first shoe... he heard the stairs begin to creak.

One after the other, getting louder each time. Mark was paralysed, he couldn't move, his heart was pounding, and fear ran through his body, sending shivers down his arms.

He closed his eyes and started praying "Anything to live, please Anything to live", but as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw the door handle turning.

Slowly.

Agonisingly

Slowly.

Suddenly the door flew open, and there stood a dark silhouette. With their sliced hands, their piercing blue eyes, and in one hand... a knife.

"Fuck" said Mark. He started the countdown in his head:

5, get your legs in the right position

4, arms off the bed

3, aim for the stairs

2, clutch the phone tightly

1, RUN.

Mark sprung up from the bed, his feet banging against the floor as he took off with speed.

Mark's bedroom was a long room, it normally took about 20 steps to get to his bed, and so with every step, Mark felt more anxious, the more close he came to the murderer.

Mark was nearly out, he was practically out of his room, one more step and -

He was stabbed.

Mark fell to the floor, pain searing from his side, which was where he was stabbed. The silhouette sat on top of him.

"Oh Mark... nice try, but we all know you're not the best runner."

The silhouette pulled out the knife, wedged into Mark's side, causing large amounts of bleeding. Within seconds, they were both sat in a pool full of blood.

"Very good Mark, you're still alive! I can feel your heartbeat! Let's see how long it lasts" they said, as they pressed the Scarlet-tipped knife lightly against Mark's neck. They slid the knife down, cutting his top off, leaving his top bare.

Harder this time, the cut through layers of skin to form an 'x' shape, right across Mark's chest.

"X marks the spot right?" They whispered. "Let's how far we have to dig before we reach the treasure"

Mark's eyes widened, whilst he saw the figure rise the knife up and slam it down into his chest, into his heart.

Mark was dead.

"Don't worry Mark, I'll tell your friends the... 'horrible' news"

And with that, it was all over.