A little something I'm starting:
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How could something be so evil, yet so profoundly interesting?
Eyes watering with nothing but fear as The Shape leaned closer. Fear is what he wanted, and I was giving him all of mine. I was cornered within my own home; my own place of “security”. Not a second guess in the world to call the police. If I were to even glance at the old white rotary phone on the wall, just a glance… Nothing good would come from it.
The broad man - no… thing, in front of me had about 20 bullet wounds (if I were to take a hidden guess) across his chest. The blood seaped through his navy blue coveralls, soaking the already dark fabric in which he had no reaction of. It seemed like hours pressed up against this wall, his heavy - but oddly slow breath hitting against the latex of the white mask he had on.
‘How do I distract him from me?’