She walked from the kitchen with a buttery bowl of popcorn. She dropped to the couch with a happy sigh, patted the cushion next to her, and hit play on the remote. "It's a perfect night for a scary movie, don't you think Oscar?" she asked her little black Scottie. He nuzzled her hand still holding the remote and stared longingly at the popcorn on her lap. She giggled and handed him an extra buttery piece, then sat back to enjoy the movie.
**
She awoke to the blue screen of the television. She realized with disappointment that she had fallen asleep and missed most of the movie. Stretching the kinks from her stiff neck and back, she looked around for Oscar. Not seeing him, she decided he must have abandoned her for the comfy quietness of her bedroom. Getting up, she reached for the remote to turn off the entertainment system, when she was plunged into darkness.
"Damn it," she mumbled. She'd complained to the landlord about the faulty breaker for months. She was just going to have to have it fixed herself and send him the bill. Feeling her way into the kitchen for her LED flashlight, she gasped in surprise when the lights were suddenly restored. "What the heck?" she said aloud. That had never happened before. She'd always had to go into the attached garage and reset the breaker herself. Hmm, oh well.
She went back to the living room for her popcorn bowl and glass. She'd hate to wake to dirty dishes lying around in the morning. She rinsed her cup out in the kitchen sink, dumped the remnants of popcorn into the trash and turned to put both into the dishwasher when the lights flickered and went dark for a second time.
Throwing her head back in frustration, she sighed heavily. Her landlord certainly couldn't expect her to live like this. First thing in the morning she was calling an electrician. She carefully placed the bowl and glass into the dishwasher and closed it up. Feeling her way to the drawer by the kitchen sink, she reached inside for the flashlight. Not finding it in its usual spot, a tiny surge of fear crept up her spine. She always put it back when she was done. The lights going out had become so common that she was meticulous about returning the flashlight to its home. She even kept a large supply of batteries in the drawer so she'd never be without.
She felt frantically around the drawer. There was nothing. It was completely empty. She began to panic. This didn't make any sense. Her hands were shaking and her breath came in small gasps. A full on panic attack was seconds from setting in when the lights blazed back on. She took several deep breaths and rested her shaking hands against her chest. Feeling more in control she opened her eyes and stared in confusion at the empty drawer in front of her. Her feelings of unease only seemed to increase as she tried to understand where everything had gone.
Oscar was her only roommate and besides herself, the landlord was the only other person with a key. Had he done this? Was this some sort of cruel joke because he was tired of her calling about the breaker? That didn't make sense to her. Her landlord was lazy, yes, but he'd never struck her as creepy or mean.
She slammed the drawer shut and turned with the intention of grabbing her cell phone to call him immediately. A light from her peripheral stopped her in her tracks. There, on the outside kitchen window ledge, was her flashlight. It stood on its end with the beam of light disappearing into the night sky. The extra batteries were lined up beside the flashlight. They too stood at attention like little soldiers in the night. Seeing the contents of her kitchen drawer lining the sill isn't what caused her blood to run cold and gooseflesh to cover her body.
Illuminated in the glow of her high powered LED flashlight was a single piece of paper. It appeared to be torn from the local newspaper. It was stuck fast to the glass of her sparkling window. An irrational irritation skittered through her. She had scrubbed that window till it shown earlier that morning. Shaking herself, she gasped in fear as she read the one word written on the remnants of the daily news. "Run," it said. The word appeared to be written in a thick red paint and it is what held the paper to her window.
From the other room, she heard the television click on, then the mumbling sound of a reporter's voice filled the air. "Reports just in Bob. An escaped patient from the county psychiatric hospital is on the run. Doctors and police are warning residents of the neighboring towns to secure your homes and only go out if necessary." The reporter's voice faded as her ears filled with the rushing of blood and the pounding of her terrified heart. Backing slowly from her living room, she screamed as heavily muscled arms wrapped around her and a husky voice whispered in her ear.
"I told you to run."
