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Walking down the empty street after a late-night shift I swear I hear an extra pair of feet crunch against the gravel. Quickly I turn my head and meet nothing. Nothing but a stray dog. But if you asked me I would swear that the heavy indent of those footprints belonged to a human being. But maybe I'm just being paranoid.
When I close my apartment door behind me, a creaking sound of the door alarms me once turn away from it. I'm certain that somebody must have followed me in but when I rush to check I find nothing. I guess the wind blew the door open. I'm pretty sure I shut it tight. But maybe I'm just being paranoid.
When I walk out of my shower, a silent bustle alarms me. This time I decide to brush it off. I'll think nothing of it. I'm just being paranoid. So I simply walk to the bathroom sink to brush my teeth.
The cool mint of toothpaste floats around my mouth as I bend down my head and spit it out. When I raise my head and gaze into the mirror, there you are seated on my washing basket. I can see you clearly. Your large trench coat drapes around the washing basket and your black combat boots are marred with blood. Your face is covered with a white smiling theatre mask. In your right hand, you hold a silver blunt knife.
When I squint my eyes to make sure you are real, you lunge at me and we tumble to the ground. As the cold knife plunges into my chest, one word fleets across my mind. Paranoia. I wonder who's next.
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