|| Inevitable ||

I

The sound of heavy footsteps against hardwood stirs me from my sleep. I've always been a light sleeper. If a fat guy fell over a cheeseburger on another continent, I'd probably hear it. But these weighted steps bother me. No one else lives in the homes on this floor.

Who cares. It's probably some kids, I shrug it off.

Remaining half awake, partly out of worry, I listen to steady footsteps as they near closer to my cosy apartment. The balanced, regular beat is soothing in a peculiar way, but it only serves to heighten my paranoia. Life has been too good lately, and if the universe is being reliable as usual than that means I'm about to get screwed over.

I listen closer and become even more paranoid by what I discover. The footsteps are slow, calculating, calm. Way too calm for an erratic teenager looking for their next horny make-out spot.

As gentle as a subtle incline, my heart rate begins to climb. I chant calming phrases in my head: There is no need to freak out. It is probably nothing. It's nothing. In an attempt to distract myself I turn and roll over, pulling the thin sheet with me to keep me warm. Maybe, stealing more sheets from the laundry would be a good idea. 

My eyes clench shut as the soft footfalls pass by my door. I try to ignore the footsteps and focus on my dreams of handsome strangers, my family, my life - before everything went wrong.

Things then get considerably worse.

Even tucked beneath a sheet, my ears still prick at the sound of a loud scratching on my front door. Dragging and ugly screeching sounds resound throughout the entire apartment. I reach for the pocket knife aside my bed, and curse myself out for leaving it in my bag in the kitchen.

The moon is high in the sky outside my window. White and marred by craterous scars. It's pale face slips through the glass and offers me some light. Everything is quiet now.

Shivering from the cold, I peel the blankets off my body, throwing on my stained t-shirt and pulling up my jeans. I bend to collect my shoes and pad along the wooden floor with my sock-cladded feet. The old wood creaking slightly beneath my weight, I open the bedroom door slightly to the main room and start for my bag, only a few metres away.

I only have one foot across the threshold when I hear the distinct click of the lock unlatching. Maybe it's a cute, little girl-scout who got lost after selling some peanut butter cookies.

Everything moves in slow motion. The door opening slowly and carefully, me reaching for my bag but it's too far away, and the overbearing presence of an intruder in my home.

Up until now I have never understood why people are so emotionally scarred after a break-in, now I get it. The unwanted presence of a person in your home is so overwhelming it shakes your foundations. You feel suffocated, violated, petrified that someone has trespassed into a place you call sacred.

And to make things even worse, my eyes widen in horror when they land on the reflection of the moon, on the knife. The knife in the intruder's hand. The door closes softly and I finally see them in full.

That's definitely not an adorable girl with pigtails.

Dressed in all black from head to toe, the towering male figure fills up the small kitchen area. Midnight black hair spikes up from his head, his neck hidden by the raised collar of his jacket. He's much taller than I, and assumedly a lot stronger too. Muscles shift under his dark clothing as he treads carefully into my home. He's so at ease with this, he knows what he's doing.

I come to a terrifying conclusion, he's done this before.

But what really sends a chill down my spine, is the plain white mask over his face. It's one of those creepy standard ones, with black soulless eyes and white features. The kind that haunt the nightmares of young children long after Halloween.