PUR

PUR ptII

Part one of this story can be found at https://bluntlymag.com/pur/ however this story can be stand-alone.

Cassidy sat upright in her bed. The whistling of a gentle breeze flowed through the house like the whispers of a child. She rolled over in her bed and closed her eyes. It was just the wind, nothing to fear. As her head hit the pillow, a cold gust of wind slinked over her cheek and shoulder.

She opened her eyes, suddenly as awake as if it were noon. Adrenaline soared through each vein, artery, and capillary that her body possessed. She had shut the doors and windows of the house. She had walked the perimeter and checked each lock twice. There shouldn't have been a way for wind to enter the house, and yet the wind blew.

Then, she heard a footstep. It was the smallest of creaks. If it weren't for the adrenaline heightening her senses, she doubted that it would be audible. The blood drained from her face. This couldn't be happening, not now, not to her.

The light from the bedside table illuminated only half of the room. She gripped the Glock and pulled it to her chest, casting aside the holster that belonged to it. The weapon brought a little confidence, but it didn't negate her fear. The rest of the living space outside of the bedroom was enveloped by the dark. Her imagination filled the void with monsters and intruders that lurked in shadow.

The sound of rubber soles against tile squeaked through the doorway. Whoever it was was in the kitchen. Cassidy's heart rate picked up. She looked into the bathroom, considering barricading herself in the confined space. Somehow, that seemed like a worse idea than holding her ground. At least from her position, she had a clear shot to the room's entrance.

Cassidy took a deep breath and wiped the sweat that had gathered on her brow. She looked around the room for her cell phone. It wasn't on the bedside table, nor was it on her dresser. She wracked her brain for where she had placed it. It had to have been in her purse on the kitchen table.

Another footstep crept closer. A shadow darted across the doorway just out of eyesight. A chill crept from her toes and settled into a buzz at the base of her skull. How had they gotten in without her being alerted? The floorboards of her living room groaned under the intruder's weight.

Alarms as loud as cathedral bells pounded on the inside of her skull. Should she scream for help? The nearest neighbors couldn't be more than 50-feet away. The walls on her house were thin, but were they thin enough for her voice to travel the distance?

A shadow jumped from the entryway into her room. The man stood frozen, just as she was. He was tall, unusually tall. Cassidy guessed somewhere between 6'7"-7'. His thin torso was covered in a black hoodie and gloves. The only part of his body uncovered was his face, and that face was burned into her memory. Symbology was tattooed across his eyes like a mask. Upside down crosses and pentagrams were scrawled in black tattoo ink across each cheek, trailing down like tusks on his chin.

She held up her gun and pressed down on the trigger. There was no clap of a gunshot, there was no blood spatter against the door jam, the trigger refused to budge. Panic splattered stars across her vision as she realized the safety was still on. She fumbled with her index finger, trying to find the button in the dim lighting.

The man was on her faster than she could blink. The gun went flying across the room and her hands were pinned at her sides as he straddled her torso. She took in a breath to scream but a gloved hand pinned her jaws closed. Her fear escalated to the point where she thought her heart would burst.

A syringe appeared in his free hand and she winced as its needle punctured the soft tissue in her neck. She could feel the cool liquid inside her veins as it wormed its way through her body. The light on the bedside table started to fade into a gray haze. As she turned her eyes forward, she saw his eyes. Black, soulless eyes without irises or whites bore into her own.