Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 30 - Avery

It's an eerie evening. Tonight, dusk is accompanied by his cool old friend Jack Frost. Jack skips alongside me as I pace from my car to my front door, keeping a firm grip on my hands and I am unable to break free. Dusk watches from a distance, gaining pleasure from his observation, but he is unwilling to join in with his friend's bidding. Dusk is a more subtle character. You never know when he's coming and by the time he's crept up on you, it's too late. Jack seems the greater threat in hindsight, but it's dusk who is the real villain.

I'm not fazed by the corner of a cream envelope poking out of the letterbox. I've learnt that I cannot think clearly if my mind is obscured by caution. Instead, I retain a steady pulse as I click the door shut behind me and peel open the envelope to uncover magazine letters stuck to a piece of crumpled cream paper.

Roses are red, violets are blue
You don't see me, but I see you
But don't be alarmed, I'll stop soon
Because the clock has struck twelve
This fairy tale's over for you

My stomach drops and my hands begin to tremble. My act of being calm and collected is thrown out the window and I am wide-eyed, staring frantically into the deserted street, in a desperate attempt to find the owl who will not cease his pursuit. I'm not used to being the hunted.

The part that I find most troubling is the fact that I have no idea who this person is. If I knew who they were – I would deal with them faster than Cinderella could run from the ball. Alas, I am being kept in the dark. It is a strange feeling, not liking the dark – that's usually when I'm at my best.

I study the individual letters. They have no distinct features. They are a rather bland font – some larger than and in different colours from others, but it isn't enough to go on. Unless I want the challenge of searching through every single magazine out there. That doesn't sound too appealing.

As I run my fingertips over the raised words, my nail catches on the edge of the 'F' of 'fairy tale'. I tease the corner and it resists at first, but eventually yields, bringing some of the paper it is clinging to along with it.

I flip it over and from the back, the piece of paper is just a rectangle. Whoever took the time to cut out each individual letter was clearly too lazy to cut around every corner of the 'F'. On the other side of the 'F' is the words "for sa" and the rest is cut off. Below this is a picture. I can't quite make out what the object is, since the middle of it is covered by the remnants of the white paper it was stuck to. It looks like an outdoor appliance of some sort. A lawnmower maybe? It may seem like little to go on, but most of the time the smallest details are the most important.

Then again, even if it is a lawnmower there is no way I can track down which magazine and which issue, so I suppose it isn't that much help.

Before setting the thin paper down on the desk, I raise it to my lips and drag my taste buds along it.

I'm about to begin removing the other words to examine the back, when the muscles in my hands are startled by a thud that resonates through the entire ground floor. The source is the door.

My legs protest the movement that my brains commands, but I force them forward and I approach the source.

It's as though the subtle tick of the clock has been muted. The noise of the fridge is absent. It's deafeningly quiet. All I can hear is the blood drumming into my ears.

With my heart lodged in my throat, I turn the lock and pull the door towards me.

There is no one there.

I am greeted by the streetlight and the car that parked in my space when I wasn't home. At first, I am relieved by this – though I am confused as to the source of the thud. Perhaps it was just my imagination being overactive.

But when I glance down I see them. On my doorstep. Staring back up at me, smiling.

Buttercups.