Heather had started running a little quicker, since she had heard the lightning. When she got to her house, she nearly screamed.
There were foot prints in her lawn leading to a broken window, the drapes waving in the wind. She then saw the mailtruck by her fence. She ran over to take a look inside. The keys were gone, and the mail bag was nearly empty. There was a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin sitting on the passenger seat with a half empty large orange juice in the cup holder.
The sandwich was still warm; which meant whoever was there, wasn't there very long before leaving.
She ran inside, noticing—and grabbing—the envelope along the way. She closed the door and sat down as she opened the envelope. Heather read the information and began to fill out the information, not knowing that whoever was in her house, actually never left.
Mike could hear Heather filling out the information. The adrenaline rush was still strong. His hands were shaking more than they ever had. He was sweating so bad, he looked like he just got out of the shower. Just to add to the issue, he probably smelled pretty gross, considering he was up all night, researching photos or her and downloading Heather’s information. He began to walk slowly down the stairs. Mike knew it was a bad idea, but he wanted to see if he could make it to the door.
Her stairs were wooden and creaky. So with each step he took, came more and more fear, adrenaline, and sweat. Unfortunately, Mike had forgotten about his wet shoes, and that was when he slipped and fell eight stairs to the bottom floor, banging against the wall, and knocking down pictures.
Once Mike could move again, he looked at the kitchen table. On the table were a cup of coffee, a pen, and the paper. The missing knife in the knife holder was the one thing he didn't see.
Heather peaked around the corner and saw someone who looked very familiar to her. She thought for a couple seconds and remembered the mail truck. The thought of him actually in her house frightened her so horribly that she dropped the knife in her hand. The clang of then it hit the wooden floor seemed too loud to go unheard. She could only pray that the man didn't find her.
She bent over carefully to pick it up, never losing sight of it. She grabbed it and began to straighten up again. The creepy mailman was standing and staring at her. She screamed at the sudden sight of this man smiling, while staring into her eyes holding a knife.
She swung at him with every bit of strength. It was all she had left. Her flying fist was caught by his massive hand, and the knife was ripped from her grasp. The next thing she knew, her hands were on her stomach. She could feel something warm and wet. She looked down to her shirt, horrified by what she saw. Her shirt was red and dripping with her own blood. On her hands, she could feel the sticky liquid slowly making its way down the back of her hand. She attempted to scream, when the yell was cut off, by the feeling of a very fast, and excruciatingly painful slit along her upper neck.
That was when everything stopped. The thinking, the feeling, even the struggling. She dropped to the floor, hitting her head on the counter on the way down. Heather didn't even feel a thing. She hit the floor, and the last thing she saw was a brown boot headed, quickly, in her direction.
There were foot prints in her lawn leading to a broken window, the drapes waving in the wind. She then saw the mailtruck by her fence. She ran over to take a look inside. The keys were gone, and the mail bag was nearly empty. There was a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin sitting on the passenger seat with a half empty large orange juice in the cup holder.
The sandwich was still warm; which meant whoever was there, wasn't there very long before leaving.
She ran inside, noticing—and grabbing—the envelope along the way. She closed the door and sat down as she opened the envelope. Heather read the information and began to fill out the information, not knowing that whoever was in her house, actually never left.
Mike could hear Heather filling out the information. The adrenaline rush was still strong. His hands were shaking more than they ever had. He was sweating so bad, he looked like he just got out of the shower. Just to add to the issue, he probably smelled pretty gross, considering he was up all night, researching photos or her and downloading Heather’s information. He began to walk slowly down the stairs. Mike knew it was a bad idea, but he wanted to see if he could make it to the door.
Her stairs were wooden and creaky. So with each step he took, came more and more fear, adrenaline, and sweat. Unfortunately, Mike had forgotten about his wet shoes, and that was when he slipped and fell eight stairs to the bottom floor, banging against the wall, and knocking down pictures.
Once Mike could move again, he looked at the kitchen table. On the table were a cup of coffee, a pen, and the paper. The missing knife in the knife holder was the one thing he didn't see.
Heather peaked around the corner and saw someone who looked very familiar to her. She thought for a couple seconds and remembered the mail truck. The thought of him actually in her house frightened her so horribly that she dropped the knife in her hand. The clang of then it hit the wooden floor seemed too loud to go unheard. She could only pray that the man didn't find her.
She bent over carefully to pick it up, never losing sight of it. She grabbed it and began to straighten up again. The creepy mailman was standing and staring at her. She screamed at the sudden sight of this man smiling, while staring into her eyes holding a knife.
She swung at him with every bit of strength. It was all she had left. Her flying fist was caught by his massive hand, and the knife was ripped from her grasp. The next thing she knew, her hands were on her stomach. She could feel something warm and wet. She looked down to her shirt, horrified by what she saw. Her shirt was red and dripping with her own blood. On her hands, she could feel the sticky liquid slowly making its way down the back of her hand. She attempted to scream, when the yell was cut off, by the feeling of a very fast, and excruciatingly painful slit along her upper neck.
That was when everything stopped. The thinking, the feeling, even the struggling. She dropped to the floor, hitting her head on the counter on the way down. Heather didn't even feel a thing. She hit the floor, and the last thing she saw was a brown boot headed, quickly, in her direction.